The Prank Defenders!
by Kavery12
Summary: Humorous, mostly unconnected short stories illuminating the lighter side of life with the USS Impala and Enterprise - pranks, epically funny revenge and captains who occasionally act like five-year-olds.
1. The Prank Defenders!

I do not own Supernatural or Star Trek 2009.

There are no Star Trek characters in this little side story. However, there are epic pranks. And there may have to be a Jim Kirk companion story. Just to even things out. Not because I like writing pranks, no :D

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><p>"Dean I'm <em>bored<em>."

Three words dreaded by most elder siblings and parents around the world.

Unlike most, Dean Winchester (age twelve) saw this as a golden opportunity to utilize his brother's skills for innocent evil. "Bored, huh Sammy?"

"It's Sam and _yeeees_."

Dean rubbed his hands together conspiratorially. This was good. This was very good. This was excellent.

"You wanna do something interesting?"

Sprawled all over the couch, long floppy hair brushing the carpet with gangly legs thrown over the back of the furniture, Sam's eyes brightened. "Duh, dude."

"I need your help with a little problem. An idea, as it were. Remember the sheriff and how he was an ass to the little kids down the street and their quacking whoopee cushion in the mayor's chair on his parade float?"

Sam grinned and nodded. The kids had gone for a simple but effective prank. It had been tasteful and oh so funny. Even the mayor had laughed, but the sheriff hadn't seen it that way and yelled at the younger kids until they cried. Parents had gotten mad on their kids' behalves but the sheriff didn't seem to see the error of his ways.

"Well you see, back a long time ago, there was this tradition. It was known as toilet-papering. It's fallen by the wayside. I think we should revive it with a few Winchester…modifications."

"It doesn't sound very eco-friendly."

"Yes, yes Sammy, don't interrupt. In short, I want to toilet paper the man's truck."

Sam righted himself on the couch. "This sounds fun."

* * *

><p><em>Two days later…<em>

Sheriff Wheeler loved his hover-truck. It had a full light rack with air horns and sirens. It was big, imposing in sleek, official sheriff-ish gold and brown. Everyone saw it coming, everyone got out of the way.

He would drive it to work between 8:45 and 9:00 am when the maximum number of people would be driving about to see his presence. Then he parked the truck and didn't leave his office until 10:00, when he drove down to the local coffee joint. The coffee joint was a popular watering hole and Sheriff Wheeler would mingle with the common folks.

He always left the coffee joint at 10:40. During this time, the hover-truck was parked just around the corner, under a large maple so the sun couldn't fade the seats. And this was the only time of day when the truck was out of his sight for longer than ten minutes.

They struck then.

* * *

><p>There were snorts of laughter, grinning people walking into Jitterz when they should have been barely awake. Sheriff Wheeler, connected to his town and all, noticed this and asked Alice, the bookstore owner what the commotion was about.<p>

She couldn't look him in the eye for giggling, pointing towards the door with a shaking finger.

There was a huge group of people gathered around the sheriff's truck.

Said truck was no longer gold and tan.

It was a pasty, dripping white, streaked through with bright rainbow colours. The windshield had eyes drawn on it, the paste-smeared grill a sad frown, the windshield wipers leaking tears. A speech bubble the length of the truck read "I'm sorry my driver feels a pathological need to over-compensate."

The sheriff stormed up and disgustedly ran a hand through the goop. "What is this shit?" he shouted and more people broke into laughter. As the sheriff glared and fumed and stamped, he realized the gunk on his hand felt…peculiar. It was stiffening. Hardening.

Horror dawned.

Whatever that paste was, it was going to encase his beloved truck.

Sheriff Wheeler was not the brightest man on Planet Earth.

He freaked out and tried to scrape the…stuff from the truck with his arms, resulting in a face full of hardening goo. It trickled down his collar, over his phaser, into his comm and ruined his pocket of M&M's.

If anyone had been inclined to help him before, they weren't going to now that they knew the stuff wasn't just pulp and water.

* * *

><p>The sheriff had to spend the afternoon hardening in the sun before a sympathetic deputy could pick off the crust. It came away from skin painlessly and fairly easily.<p>

But the truck wasn't so fortunate. Patches of paint peeled away with the gunk, revealing a lovely shade of virulent purple beneath the dignified sheriff's colours and all the deputies in the world couldn't pick all the white stuff out of the grill, the wipers or the wheels.

The sheriff was furious.

Especially when he realized the gunk had gotten down into the air horns. Then he discovered the sirens were hotwired to play an old pop hit called 'Barbie Girl' at a deafening volume continuously once Sheriff Wheeler flipped the switch.

It took him two days to get his truck back to something resembling normal. Two days in which to stew and launch a full criminal investigation. In his professional opinion, judging from the smirks on both Winchesters, he knew who to blame.

But they had been in school all day. Security footage didn't show them leaving and the teachers swore they hadn't left their classrooms. No eyewitnesses at the truck either. No one had seen anything. Airtight alibi, no evidence.

He had to take the higher road and drop the investigation.

Dean Winchester was insufferable, Sam Winchester was smug. For months on end.

Brothers in crime.


	2. The Perils of Angering a Cookie Defender

I do not own Supernatural or Star Trek 2009.

Aaand here's little Jim Kirk's defense of someone who suffers a cruel prank. :D

* * *

><p>Jimmy Kirk was trying to outgrow his nickname. Jim Kirk sounded so much better. It was a name a kid could use when he was an intergalactic superhero, a Starfleet captain, a firefighter, something other than a small, eight-and-three-quarters Iowa farm boy.<p>

No matter how hard he reminded her though, old Mrs. Potts couldn't seem to make the changeover. Mrs. Potts was the town widow, clucked the gossipy biddies down by the general store, somehow managing to make widow sound like a dirty word.

Jimmy didn't much care what she was. Mrs. Potts always had time to listen to Jim's chatter, she gave good advice and said advice usually had a home-baked cookie to go with it. He helped her with her gardens and cheerfully permitted only Mrs. Potts to call him Jimmy.

And Mrs. Potts always had six trays of muffins, eight dozen cookies and ten loaves of beautiful raisin bread to take to farmer's market on Saturday mornings. Her baking was famous.

Jimmy wasn't the only boy with wide, shining, cookie-loving eyes for Mrs. Potts, but she chose her free Saturday treats with discretion. If a boy had been unusually mischievous or a little too cruel in his play, he got a sorrowful head shake and had to walk away empty-handed until next week.

Tom and his two friends Derek and Wilbur had not had a Mrs. Potts cookie for three weeks. They picked fights with girls, drove their teacher to distraction and were generally nuisances. When Mrs. Potts sent them away for the fourth week in a row, they decided enough was enough.

Derek's father raised pigs – lovely, fat, wild pigs that squealed and fought and mashed and stamped in their trailer while Derek's father sold them at auction. Somehow, that Saturday, the pins holding the trailer shut slipped loose and the ramp smacked the ground with a glorious crash, sending pigs all through the farmer's market and right over Mrs. Potts' carefully whitewashed bakery stand.

The stand was ruined and Mrs. Potts suffered a sprained ankle. Though almost everyone in town was pretty sure they knew the culprits, there was no evidence and the boys vehemently denied any wrongdoing.

So the nasty little trio strutted around town free as birds.

It made Jimmy – _Jim_ – Kirk very angry.

He began to plot.

* * *

><p>Derek was the first to begin telling wild, strange stories. He said he was seeing things, that there was really a muffin ghost in his closet and some<em>thing<em> resembling a mouldy cupcake followed him home at night, bobbing in mid-air. He took to carrying a flashlight to bed and refused to go out after dark.

Wilbur claimed he had seen floating, glowing cookies in the library stacks. Then he insisted he had encountered an avalanche of evil brownies and the smell of rotting chocolate clung to the kid. No matter what his mother did, the stench took more than a week to go away.

Tom waited in terror for it, whatever _it_ was, to begin.

It didn't.

His friends suspected him. Dissension was sown. Insults thrown. Punches followed.

And all the while Jimmy – _Jim_ – Kirk carefully, helpfully, innocently put together a new foldable stand for Mrs. Potts under her armchair supervision and a little assistance from the next door neighbour.

Soon none of the boys were talking to each other and they wouldn't walk home at night without an adult. Derek came up with the bright idea of apologizing to Mrs. Potts in an attempt to appease the spirits of baked goods passed on to the golden oven in the sky.

He and Wilbur did so in their Sunday best, polite and contrite as anything. Mrs. Potts of course, was gracious and forgiving. There was also a marked improvement in the two boys' behaviour towards others.

Tom though was convinced he was the injured party and began to put on martyr's airs.

The prankster decided to pull out all the stops.

* * *

><p>Tom was bravely (tremblingly) walking home one fine October night just as dusk was falling when he heard the clip clop of horse's hooves behind him.<p>

Spinning around, he spotted Jenkins' big black mare trotting towards him at a good rate.

Tom hated horses. He was afraid of them. Especially Jenkins' big mare. So he swallowed hard and carried on, trying to ignore the horse coming up behind him.

He took one last glance over his shoulder when he smelled the strange aroma of gingerbread floating past him.

Little Tom Berry went dead white with terror and bolted down the dirt road at warp ten.

When he got home, he could only babble helplessly about the headless, cackling, _moving_ gingerbread man, bedaubed in blood-red icing, riding Jenkins' mare down the road at night while carrying its own head, huge gumdrop eyes glowing at him malevolently with a nasty licorice grin.

He apologized to Mrs. Potts the next day.

* * *

><p>Oddly enough, Jimmy – <em>Jim<em> – Kirk smelled like gingerbread for a few days afterwards, almost as if he had somehow been bathing in gingerbread.

Strange, isn't it?


	3. Of Ensigns, Damsels and Tears

I do not own Supernatural or Star Trek 2009.

Please note: the minor OC in this chapter is just that. She will not become a major character (although she's kind of growing on me).

* * *

><p>Ensign Violet O'Malley was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, to quote classic literature.<p>

She knew she was nerdy and only slightly pretty and she liked science too much and yes she was away a lot when she was aboard the _Enterprise_ but she thought she had found someone who understood her and she had thought Terry was someone she could love for the rest of her life.

He wasn't, the cheating rat.

So she sat on an unobtrusive bench in the _Enterprise_'s offloading area in San Francisco and sobbed her heart out behind a very large crate of science lab equipment because she felt more connected to the _Enterprise_ than she did her small apartment.

After this, her only loves were going to be science and the _Enterprise_. Ice cream would be her one affair.

"Ensign? Ensign…O'Malley, isn't it?"

Violet froze.

That was Captain Kirk's voice.

She'd only met him once and thought him very nice but very important and while Violet loved science and Starfleet, she was not aspiring for promotion at all, so she was surprised he knew her name.

She also hoped if she stayed very still, he would go away.

No such luck.

"Ensign, what's wrong?"

She sniffled and kicked herself for sounding so pathetic. "Just personal issues, sir. I got dumped." She finally looked up and gave her best watery grin. "Guess he wasn't _the_ guy, huh?"

Captain Kirk's forehead wrinkled in sympathy and he crouched down to her level. "This doesn't look like just 'dumped.'"

She sniffed again, trying to gather herself up to be presentable. "No, he cheated too."

"Bastard," the captain said heatedly and she had to chuckle at the defensive tone in his voice. No one messed with Captain Kirk's people. "Got a friend to take you home?"

Violet shrugged. No, she didn't. It would have been a small fib to send Captain Kirk on his way, but she hated lying.

The captain hummed thoughtfully. She figured he would be nice, sympathetic and then leave her to sob the night away over ice cream.

"Yo, Winchester! Get your ass over here!" Violet jumped at the booming voice.

Winchester? Which one? Either one! They were larger than life (literally), handsome, important and why was the captain calling them here?

Footsteps grew close, thudding firmly. "What's up?" Captain Winchester asked roughly and she resisted the urge to either melt into a puddle or make a break for freedom.

She heard Captain Kirk whispering loudly after the fashion of men who don't share many secrets and have never been to a sleepover. "Bastard," Captain Winchester growled. "Come on, Ensign. We're going to have _fun_ tonight."

The scholastic side of her brain babbled hysterically at the various socio-cultural implications inherent in his tone of voice when he said 'fun.' The evil, freshly-dumped witchy side remembered that Captains Winchester and Kirk were renowned for their pranks.

She might have worried just for a second that the captains had nefarious intentions but shrugged it off. Everyone knew that while both captains loved women, they never dated a crew member. It was unprofessional and would have been very awkward. She was as safe with them as if she were in a church.

Tagging along after them like a little addendum to one of her science reports, Violet watched them mutter to each other like little boys plotting to hide a snake in the teacher's desk.

Suddenly she realized these two powerful, handsome men were really just big boys at heart, boys who hated to see a girl cry. Really, that might have been the best remedy for her relationship blues – the knowledge that there were still good men out there, even if she never got to date them.

They got into a cab and rode across town. The whole time, Violet was bewildered as the two captains seemed to be having an argument of some kind. Then they were throwing rock paper scissors. Violet raised an eyebrow when Captain Winchester lost and hissed "Best of three!"

She decided to leave them to it.

She was startled out of her musings by a shout of dismay from Captain Winchester, as Captain Kirk poked his friend firmly and pressed a recorder into her hands. Violet watched in bemusement as Captain Winchester threw up his hands in disgust and disappeared into a rather sleazy looking shop. "Where are we?" she asked in confusion.

Captain Kirk's smirk was absolutely up to no good. "This," he said with great glee, "is where transvestite strippers shop."

Maybe Violet would have to rethink that safe as a church thought.

"I don't understand."

"You will. It's the only place in town with shoes big enough for Dean."

* * *

><p>Ensign Violet O'Malley did not know she could laugh so hard.<p>

Captain Kirk was turning blue from hilarity-induced oxygen deprivation.

Captain Winchester looked very irritated, which only made his glittery false eyelashes even funnier.

He propped his hands on his hips, which set Kirk off again. The sparkly, tasteful midnight blue club dress with…female endowment, nice pumps and dark nylons turned Captain Winchester into a slightly masculine woman, complete with a long, curly wig.

"You are getting into that cab right _now_ Kirk and I am going to stay in this get up for exactly as long as I have to and not one nano-second longer. Ensign, be very glad you're cute and this is going to be a good joke, because otherwise I would not be caught _dead_ doing this."

Kirk managed to stop wheezing long enough for everyone to pile back into the cab. "Jupiter Club, please," Violet squeaked from where she was squashed between the two burly captains, one still shaking with mirth. The cabbie raised both eyebrows but didn't comment as Captain Winchester fussed with his lipstick and clip-on earrings.

They sailed into the club with no problems. Violet had been a little worried – Captain Winchester had a very manly swagger, but to her amused amazement, the captain managed the heels very well and in the swirling lights of the club, he was almost…pretty. Violet banished that thought as soon as it arrived, since pretty and Captain Winchester seemed oxymoronic on regular days (she was afraid she had fallen into some kind of Twilight Zone).

Captain Kirk had no such qualms and needled his friend mercilessly before turning to Violet. "All right, point out the jackass and get recording," he grinned contagiously.

Violet scanned the large dark room and spotted Terry's bright red hair after a few minutes. "There," she admitted, her previous good mood fading as her ex flirtatiously played with the hair of a blonde bombshell.

Captain Winchester hitched up his 'boobs,' took a long swig from Captain Kirk's beer, straightened his spine and stalked across the club in a very feminine strut. Captain Kirk dragged her along more subtly until they were one booth over from Terry, Captain Winchester still navigating the club floor.

"And action," Captain Kirk laughed in her ear.

Violet was glad she'd propped the recorder on the booth wall because she had to stuff both fists into her mouth to stifle her glee.

Dean Winchester, badass womanizer, Starfleet hero and captain of the famed USS _Impala_ had 'spotted' Terry. 'She' stormed over, dramatically screamed, flailed and went into feminine hysterics, calling him a cheater and a bastard and how dare he leave her at the altar and run away without telling her he was having an affair at the time with _two_ other women and now she found him _here_ with yet another girl!

Terry froze like a deer in headlights as the blonde he was sitting with shrank back in revolted dismay and Captain Winchester continued to harangue the cheater in a very convincing soprano. Violet could feel Captain Kirk laughing at her back as the people in Terry's booth started to glare at Violet's ex.

And before Terry could regain his composure, Captain Winchester bitch-slapped the skinny man so hard the smack of skin on skin was audible over even the pulsing club music and stalked off in high dudgeon.

Violet watched in satisfaction as the other girls sneered at Terry and deserted him, leaving him alone in the booth. She was enjoying it so much that Captain Kirk had to grab both her and the recorder before Terry spotted her.

They met Captain Winchester out back behind the club as he disgustedly pitched the heels into the closest dumpster, snatching a small duffel bag from Captain Kirk and yanking a big Starfleet sweatshirt over the sequined dress, shoving his feet into flip-flops.

Violet giggled again at the memory of a flabbergasted Terry, stepped close to Captain Winchester and pecked him on the cheek. "Thank you sir," she said sincerely. He didn't have to do this for her and the insane gesture was touching. He grinned at her, bright and warm.

"No problem. No more dating assholes, all right? And Kirk, if pictures of this get out, I swear on the _Impala_ that the story about the Andorian chick and too much tequila becomes public knowledge."

Captain Kirk shuddered and Violet kissed him on the cheek too. Flushing like a schoolboy rather than the playboy he was supposed to be, Captain Kirk shrugged and shoved hands into his pockets. "We know it won't fix things, but at least the vid will make you smile."

They put her into a cab and waved for as long as she could see them.

Yes, the sting of a cheating boyfriend lingered and she didn't have any inclination to date for at least a while but the vid helped. A lot.

It was _very_ hard not to tell the story to everyone else (but at the same time not too hard – it was a precious memory of two men who sincerely wanted to make her feel better when she was depressed).

She had the greatest captain in the galaxy and his best friend was a sweetheart.


	4. Attendance

I do not own Supernatural or Star Trek 2009.

This particular adventure was presented to me by the enthusiastic MarzBarz. I seized upon the idea and ran with it.

* * *

><p>"From now on, this is war."<p>

"Every man's hand turns against his friend."

"Cut-throat, you understand? Forget you ever drank with them, forget the fun."

"We are going to win this at all costs!"

* * *

><p>Two blinking command crews stared at their respective captains aboard their individual ships.<p>

* * *

><p>"Eh? What's all this about, then capt'n?" Scotty asked in confusion aboard the <em>Enterprise.<em>

* * *

><p>"I don't get it," Jo said baldly from her spot on the <em>Impala<em>'s bridge.

* * *

><p><em>Last night…<em>

"And the cadets swear that there's no way to make Dad late for class. They've tried everything from swiping his train card to locking him out of the sparring gym. The man always gets in." Dean thudded down his beer and grinned. "Bet I could do it."

Jim Kirk chuckled and leaned back in his chair, supremely confident. "Bet I could do it faster."

"No way."

"Dude. Yes."

"I am the prank _master_."

"I invented pranks."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"So. You and me. Bridge crews assisting. First one to make John Winchester late for class can ask the loser for one thing. Any one thing."

Jim chugged the last of his beer and smirked. "You're _on_."

* * *

><p><em>Enterprise<em>

"So that's how it goes. We have nine days before the _Enterprise_ leaves and your captain's honour is at stake."

The entire bridge crew stared blankly for a minute before wordlessly turning back to their work. If they ignored him, maybe he would go away.

"Oh come _on_," Kirk cajoled entreatingly. "Seriously, Dean said you lot wouldn't be any help at all, that you didn't have it in you."

* * *

><p><em>Impala<em>

"And that's when Kirk said even Spock would be able to out-prank all of you." Dean sat back in his chair, sighing sadly.

Clearly, Dean Winchester was an elder sibling, experienced in artful manipulation. Sam wasn't swayed (younger brother immunity). Unfortunately, the _Impala_'s bridge crew were a little more gullible (having no elder siblings themselves). Ash, Castiel and Jo erupted in declarations of war.

Sam rolled his eyes.

Great.

* * *

><p><em>Winchester House – Day 1<em>

John was pretty sure he'd put his train card in his wallet last night. But he'd lost it before. Digging out the spare train fare, he exited the house as usual. He arrived at class on time.

* * *

><p><em>Winchester House – Day 2<em>

There were an inordinate number of obstacles in his way this morning. Construction crews who looked suspiciously like security alumni, oddly dressed little old ladies wanting help crossing the street, out of order street lights.

With a dint of careful ducking and a brisk stride, he was in his usual spot when class began.

* * *

><p><em>Winchester House – Day 3<em>

Unannounced train maintenance wasn't technically supposed to happen. A whole station full of frustrated people convinced John that he'd be better off if he ran to the Academy, took a quick shower and pulled out his spare uniform.

He was inordinately pleased with himself when half of his class was late and the other half gaped at their wizardly instructor, knowing John's train hadn't been on time at _all_.

* * *

><p><em>Winchester House – Day 4<em>

John was pretty sure he'd had an entire closet full of Starfleet uniforms last night when he went to bed. Checking his watch, he scowled.

This was starting to smack of boys being boys. And not the cadets, who would never dare to set foot in Commander Winchester's house unannounced. For some reason, his boys and their friends wanted him to be late to class.

Well. A challenge, was it?

* * *

><p><em>Lurking…<em>

"How the hell does he do it?" Ash wondered in amazement as Dean fumed beside him in the bushes, watching an impeccably attired John Winchester stride to class. "You know Kirk's next idea's going to be one of those stupidly crazy and effective Kirk-specials. The train-hacking one was pretty good, you have to admit."

Dean stared at his navigator. "Are you doubting our inevitable win?"

"Absolutely not. But if we're going to win this, you need to convince Sam to help us."

"Right."

* * *

><p><em>Winchester House – Day 5<em>

Stealing his alarm clock. It was a classic. Simple, often effective. Too bad John kept the thing only to remind him when it was bed time at night.

* * *

><p><em>Winchester House – Day 6<em>

They had been busy last night, John had to give them that. The carefully nailed shut doors and windows smacked of methodical Sam Winchester planning. He wondered what Dean had to sell/vow/threaten to get his experiment-adoring brother out of the lab.

Good thing John was officially feeling paranoid. Carefully popping the glass out of the sliding patio door was the work of a minute. Putting it back in was a bit trickier but would definitely be worth it when the security cameras caught the culprits' disbelieving expressions as they checked on their handiwork.

* * *

><p><em>Lurking…<em>

"Damn the man, he's like freaking Houdini!" Kirk cursed. "Back to the drawing board. And we need Bones to help us. That last plan of Winchester's was definitely drummed up by his brother. We need to take this seriously now."

The previously reluctant _Enterprise_ crew was now fully engaged in the war. It was personal now, especially after Castiel had shaken his head in sad mockery of the train incident.

Chekov still vehemently maintained he hadn't bungled the train timing. Castiel had no room to laugh, not when John had almost made the pilot as a "little old lady."

Additionally, _Enterprise _was running out of time. She was scheduled for a two month hop out to the Neutral Zone in three days. They had to make it good and fast.

* * *

><p><em>Winchester House – Day 7<em>

Okay, drugging his beer was going a little far. If John hadn't noticed halfway through the first bottle, he would have definitely slept past his usual departure time.

* * *

><p><em>Winchester House – Day 8<em>

John Winchester woke up aboard the USS _Impala_. In the transporter room, to be precise.

Judging from the obdurate expression on his former friend's face, John wasn't leaving anytime soon and was going to be late for class.

But he did get the chance to try and right an old wrong with Bobby Singer, so he supposed it was worth it.

* * *

><p>"Ha! We are geniuses!" Dean crowed as he skipped jauntily towards his father's classroom.<p>

"Hey, you wouldn't have pulled it off if the _Enterprise_ hadn't had a sudden, burning desire to practice low-orbit maneuvers and thus masking your illegal transporter signal," Kirk reminded.

Dean had to give him that. The result wasn't as good as if he'd beaten both his father _and_ Kirk, but he'd take what he could get. There was always next time. Dean swore he'd manage both – work up to the final prize, as it were.

The two captains parked themselves merrily at the head of the class, prepared to gloat disgustingly when the clock ticked to 08:01 hours.

At 08:00, the door swung open and Admiral Pike rolled in. "Gentlemen? Aren't you on shore leave?"

Kirk and Winchester were very confused. "Yes sir, we are...can I ask why you're here?" Kirk asked curiously.

Pike raised an eyebrow. "I'm teaching this class today as a guest lecturer. Commander Winchester requested it. Now, could you please remove yourselves from my desk so I can get started?"

Mechanically, the two captains excused themselves, moving on autopilot until the realization finally sunk in.

They had been thoroughly thwarted.

Damn John Winchester.


	5. Queens and Bitches

I do not own Star Trek 2009 or Supernatural.

I don't know if this quite fits under the prank category per se, but it definitely fits under defender. Oh, and lots of...well...many examples of the word bitch. Sorry if that offends you.

* * *

><p>Commander Jo Harvelle was steaming mad. Furious. Absolutely livid. Spitting nails. Ready to maim, torture and kill. Up in arms. Beside herself. Breathing fire.<p>

You get the idea.

You see, she had been trying to get her good friend Cas to go out on a date with a nice girl. Castiel didn't really have much of a life outside the _Impala_ and while that was okay, he did like to get out on occasion. He didn't _enjoy_ being socially awkward. At his request, she'd been working on that with him on his social graces (she was definitely better help than Dean or Ash). He'd struck up a conversation with a pretty, sweet girl he liked and managed to plan a nice date.

He'd gone on the date. Jo had been cheering on the sidelines with a figurative bullhorn, confetti and pompoms. She'd even managed to keep from doing a thorough background check or questioning the date's friends and potentially scaring the girl off with her pathological need to be a security chief all the time.

Big mistake. Should've listened to her instincts.

Because Castiel found out halfway through dinner that the girl had known his shy reputation and only gone on the date with him as a nasty joke. She'd rubbed it in unmercifully, laughed at him in front of the entire restaurant and undone all of Jo's good work, to say nothing of the hurt inflicted on a rather sensitive Castiel.

The poor pilot had buried himself in the _Impala_'s grease-smeared engine room, a place fastidious Castiel usually avoided like the plague. Bobby had found Cas of course and promised to help the kid feel better, re-burying him in mindless engineering work and moonshine. He'd enlist a very angry Ash's help to work Bobby-counseling magic provided Jo fixed the problem of the witch.

And so Jo was on the rampage.

However, this would require subtlety. Jo was pretty good at beating the shit out of whoever pissed her off, but that would reflect poorly on Castiel. And of course, the girl could make it look like she was the victim. Jo didn't want it to look like Cas needed a girl to fight his battles.

She needed a queen bitch to help her. Or at least someone who understood queen bitches.

* * *

><p>"Bitch!" Uhura gasped, setting her beer down with a clink.<p>

"I know, right?" Jo muttered moodily, staring down at the bar through the bottom of her bottle. "And I just wanted him to date a nice girl, have some fun, gain a little confidence. He's a really great guy."

The _Enterprise_'s chief communications officer wasn't anywhere mean enough to be considered a 'itch' of any kind. But she definitely understood the system better than Jo, who'd always been a tomboy. And Uhura took insults against friends very personally.

"What are we going to do about it?" she demanded.

"Don't know. I was hoping you could help. Tonight, preferably because I'm assigned training for next week. I know it's short notice and tried calling earlier, but…" Jo shrugged. As usual, a behind-schedule _Enterprise_ hadn't come into Earth's docks just because she needed a new paint job.

Uhura tossed her long ponytail, crossed long, cocoa coloured legs in beautiful, thin-strapped skyscraper heels, tugged at her skirt and pursed glossy lips in thought. "Who is she?"

Jo grinned sadistically.

Excellent.

* * *

><p>Nerali Bas (Neri to her friends) was a beautiful young third year Starfleet nurse cadet with an angelic face and a fluffy cloud of golden-brown curls. She had a nice off-campus apartment on the club strip, liked going out most nights and was currently trolling for a boy toy.<p>

The _Impala_ pilot had been fun humiliation for a night, but acting like a sweetheart for three whole days so he could screw up the courage to ask for a date just about bored her to tears. She needed someone tougher, someone who could take rejection like a man, someone whose testosterone-laden pride she could ruin.

Ah, there was one prospect in Starfleet red. Straight off the ship, judging from the way he was eyeing the crowd. And he'd spotted her already. Oh, she'd bet that quick smile melted hearts just an iota softer than hers. Big brown eyes, strong face, the infectious grin, dark hair, broad shoulders, older than most fresh recruits, a man rather than a boy.

Excellent.

She sauntered over and started flirting.

It was a little weird though. He was kind of into it but not really. But hey, she was up for a challenge. Maybe she needed her girls to come over and play the witch game, where she became the damsel in need of rescuing.

Neri was just about to give the signal when he stood up, pushed his beer back and totally dropped her like a hot potato for some leggy African in a very attractive sequined mini-dress. A quick peck on the cheek and an arm held out displayed old-fashioned manners that would have been oh so much fun to unravel. The hello in a soft, sexy Georgia drawl only added to her chagrin.

He never looked back, leaving Neri with her jaw hanging.

She'd just been totally blown off.

This hadn't happened since she was sixteen and some idiot had smeared her makeup, revealing the colossal oozing zit underneath.

Perching herself on the stool, she put on the best dejected face she owned and waited for men to come flocking.

Blinking up through long lashes, she waited.

And waited.

The hell?

* * *

><p>Uhura sipped at her drink and sidled closer to Bones, elbowing him gently. "Thanks," she said softly and McCoy grunted. It had taken surprisingly little persuasion to get the grouchy doctor on board with the plan, even at last minute.<p>

"Hate women like that," he muttered scathingly. "Poor Cas. And you're good company, definitely better than Jim and Dean tonight. They're kegging, something about bringing back the glory days. Wasn't interested. They die of alcohol poisoning tonight, Spock and Sam will drag them back to Ellen for revival. When's Jo showing up?"

"Should be any time. She and her boys were spreading the news via the grapevine."

"Woman, your powers are vast, unfathomable and terrifying."

Uhura's delighted, girlish giggle had him shaking his head ruefully just as Jo plopped into the booth.

"We are in business. Let's see how long it takes her to figure it out and come crawling."

* * *

><p>Neri hadn't gotten a date that night.<p>

And then no one would speak to her at the Academy.

Most of her girls avoided her.

Even the profs were clipped, formal and disapproving.

She was in a fuming high temper by the time the night life rolled around. She decided to ditch her usual haunts and go for the nerds. Maybe they'd tell her something. They were always hungry for someone cute and surprisingly talented in various ways.

No dice.

Frozen out like an icicle.

She sat sulking on the steps of her apartment building and thought furiously. Neri was the top girl at the Academy. No one else was more popular. She'd always made sure to pick her humiliation victims carefully. None of them would step forward and none of them had the popularity necessary for this.

So a powerful friend of a toy?

But who?

And how could she fix this without losing face?

The next morning she cornered her bestie Sarai (who had been chillier than usual but willing to talk) and demanded both an explanation and solution. "Girl, I don't know what to tell you," Sarai admitted. "When word comes down the line about how Uhura says you're a bitch, the whole Academy's hands off."

"Uhura?" Neri was flabbergasted. The uncontested queen of the Academy during her years here? Neri hadn't actually met the woman, but could respect her popularity. Word was Uhura didn't even have to work for it like Neri. But Neri hadn't aspired to hit any _Enterprise_ members yet. The baby pilot had been on her way up the food chain. "What did I do to her?"

Sarai shrugged. "Maybe nothing, but you were eying that _Impala_ pilot like he was fresh meat and everyone in the command track knows that if you touch an _Impala_ crew member, you touch _Enterprise_ too. You didn't know?"

Neri gaped like a fish. All this over one clumsy little pilot?

She laughed.

It'd blow over in a week or two.

* * *

><p>"She's not breaking," Jo declared over the communications channel. <em>Enterprise <em>had been called out on a diplomacy run but being friends with _Enterprise_'s communications officer had its perks.

Uhura shrugged. "I figured she wouldn't. Start putting up the posters."

* * *

><p>Posters started cropping up, cleverly worded to be so very subtle and pointed, warning men against a particular individual.<p>

Neri's social life was now non-existent. She was losing weight, her skin was a stressed disaster, her grades dropping and the only friend sticking to her was Sarai. "I'm telling you, the only way to fix this is to apologize to Lieutenant Castiel," Sarai said baldly. "It's not going to go away, even with _Enterprise_ out in the Neutral Zone."

"What about a letter?" Neri pleaded. She'd never ever had to apologize and the idea of it was killing her.

"Girl, what would you do if someone bitch-slapped me like that and then tried to apologize in a measly little letter?"

Sarai had a very good point. And upon reflection, Neri had been rather cruel to the pilot. Luke Castiel had been very sweet, a complete gentleman, something of a rarity even among decent dates. She'd almost been sorry to break the illusion she'd cast.

"When's the _Impala_ next in port here?"

Sarai winced. "Three months. They'll be at Starbase 6 tomorrow though."

"Three _months_? I don't have the money to get a 'ship to 'Base 6!"

"You would if you moved on-campus and shared a room with me."

"I have to lose my apartment over this?"

"Hey, don't do me any favours. I don't particularly want a room mate, especially a bitch diva, but you happen to be my friend. You don't want out of this mess, you can go hibernate in your apartment and watch the club scene from the window for three months."

* * *

><p>She moved in with Sarai, caught a starship to Starbase 6 and apologized to Lieutenant Castiel, who clearly knew nothing of her current social status.<p>

It was one of the most humiliating things she had ever done, especially because a bewildered Lieutenant Castiel had continued to be a perfect gentleman about it, gently accepting her apology and sincerely wishing her the best in her future endeavours before seeing her back to the 'ship bound for Earth.

* * *

><p><em>Three months later…<em>

Neri's social life had definitely not recovered to its previous glory. Men still avoided her like poison despite the over-night disappearance of the posters and the silence of the grapevine.

On the up-side, she was better friends with Sarai now, tried to be less of a bitch to everyone in general and less two-faced in particular. Neri was self-centered, not stupid.

She was watching Sarai flirt with a cute security ensign from _Enterprise_ when she spotted Commander Sam Winchester of the _Impala_ wading through the masses. Neri had a rather large weak spot for the commander – very tall, extremely smart, gorgeous, courageous as a lion, the list went on for miles. And tonight just got better and better. He was shadowed by his just-as-sexy, dangerous brother and the delicious maverick Captain Kirk of the _Enterprise_.

Maybe.

One of three weren't bad odds.

She could get lucky.

She was primping in her pocket mirror when something else caught her eye. Almost directly across from her on the other side of the club, two women were watching their crews with a casual hawk's eye.

Lieutenant-Commander Uhura (why yes, Neri recognized her _now_) and Commander Harvelle (a scary woman who played with knives in public) were both looking good, sipping on drinks, ignoring appreciative male glances, no men in the booth with them. Just sitting there, watching.

Kind of creepy, if you asked Neri.

Especially when she realized they were looking for self-centered, cruel bitches who might prey on their boys.

Perhaps it was time to go home, before she did something monumentally stupid.


	6. Enterprise's Excellent Guide to Exams

I do not own Supernatural or Star Trek 2009.

Below is the infamous Incident-That-Shall-Not-Be-Mentioned, as alluded to in _Academy Days_. There is insanity, strange exams and an even odder aftermath. You were warned.

* * *

><p>"Ready?"<p>

"Aye keptin." If anyone asked, the speaker did _not_ giggle like a delighted child.

"They're so cute when they're little."

"Technically Jim, they're the same age as you. Your cadet days aren't that far behind you."

"I was never a cadet, Bones. I was always a captain."

"That is an inaccurate statement, Captain."

"Breaking my heart here, Spock. All right, showtime! Places, everyone. Bones, you know what to do."

* * *

><p>Commander John Winchester's twelve Advanced InfiltrationExtraction 465 cadets were the cream of the security crop. First years whispered that the AI/E cadets got up at the crack of dawn to wrestle bears in a secret early-morning workout with Commander Winchester and that they had actually survived a mock-mission with Captain Winchester. They were certainly tough enough to help tutor (terrify) the first years who needed a little more help. And there was definitely a certain amount of pride in being an AI/E cadet.

Still, their final exam was serious cause for worry. It was a simulated infiltration mission and younger cadets had crammed themselves into the visitor observation deck in anticipation. No one knew what Commander Winchester had planned for the final and according to the AI/E cadets themselves, the commander had only told them to show up ready for a mission.

The commander himself stood just outside the sim-room's door. "Listen up!" he barked and the cadets snapped to attention. "You have one blue-shirted individual to locate and extract. The individual you are looking for is Dr. Leonard McCoy of the USS _Enterprise_. You are all wearing tactical simulation vests and know the drill – the vest buzzes, you're dead. If you die, you fail. If McCoy dies, the whole class fails. You have an hour. Get to it."

He booted the door open. Three cadets barrelled through and were promptly covered in a gelatinous, sweet-smelling brown mass. "You're out, Cardley, Moore, Beckit," Commander Winchester barked as the disgusted cadets fished themselves out of the slippery mess, heading for the locker room. The other cadets prodded the mass carefully.

"Sir, is that…chocolate pudding?"

Commander Winchester's smile was wide, terrifying and gleeful. "I did allow your examiners creative license. Be grateful I put the kibosh on the sheep shit to spare the janitors."

The remaining bewildered nine cadets proceeded into the sim room with extreme caution.

* * *

><p>Once they got used to the idea that anything could jump out at them from anywhere, the course was manageable. They skipped around the huge oil slick, dodged the trapdoors opening over pits of bubbling warm caramel syrup, managed to hotwire the sealed door without zapping themselves in the process, and dodged the flying gummy worms and peppermints (why did it have to be <em>candy<em>?). Ducking and disabling the mock-phaser array was definitely the toughest task but it had irritated Cadet Merran, who finally got close enough to just fry the damn thing's innards with her weapon.

Then actual 'enemies' started popping out of the woodwork, phasers ready and cadets started dropping like flies. "What kind of fucking exam is this?" Wendell wheezed as he crouched behind a corner, firing madly. Yang was busy trying to get them through another door and Merran was consulting the map they'd managed to cobble together.

"This looks like it's the only place secure enough to hold a prisoner and this is a Winchester exam, what the hell did you think it was going to be? Oh look, you hit the target dead centre six times, you pass?" she snarled, firing when he paused and stuffing the scrap of plasti-paper back into her pocket.

"Got it, we're in," Yang called, careful to keep his voice low. He and Merran carefully cased the door, checking for pudding, gummy worms and other hazards.

"Hurry up, I'm taking fire here!"

"Shaddup!" Merran shot back, swiftly disabling a trip wire. And the second trip wire. And the very carefully hidden third trip wire. "See anything else?"

Yang shook his head. "I think we're clear. Wendell, let's go." He hit the button for the door and they smoothly inserted themselves into the room.

"Bingo," Wendell whistled and started to head for a slumped over Dr. McCoy. Yang snagged his collar as Merran spun them into a tight back to back formation. "What?"

"And you weren't really awake during the commander's class on 'If it looks too easy, it probably is,' were you?" Yang growled. "This whole exam has been a long series of traps, one after another and Dr. McCoy is just sitting here in a chair? Not even tied up? Hell no. Something's fishy. Merran, check it out. Wendell, cover the door. I'll keep watch from the centre."

Wendell grumbled but obeyed. Yang and Merran, despite the fact that between them they brought the class' average height down a good six inches, were two of the toughest, sharpest cadets in the class. Wendell knew he didn't always think before looking, which was why he'd latched onto Yang at the beginning of the exam. Yang could make use of Wendell's hulking size and accurate phaser fire and Wendell would have a check to keep him 'alive.'

Merran squeaked and jumped back from the raised platform holding Dr. McCoy. "What, is there a mouse?" Yang asked sarcastically. Merran shot him a dirty look.

"No, but there's about 30 000 volts of electricity running through the platform. Wendell would be very, very dead if he had charged in and grabbed Dr. McCoy, who would also be dead."

"I repeat, what the fuck kind of exam is this?"

* * *

><p>"Hey, Chekov." A slow voice drawled.<p>

"Ser."

"The electricity. That wasn't part of the plan."

"Ser, it is not my fault if dey cannot discern false readings from true. Do not vorry ser, Dr. McCoy vill be fine even if they touch de platform. Naturally though, dey vill all be 'dead.'"

"Ah. Nice touch."

"Thank you ser. It vill be interestink to see how dey plan get him off de platform. Perhaps now ve should start up de thing?"

"Good idea!"

* * *

><p>Merran was considering plopping down onto the floor in order to think harder about how exactly to shut off the electricity without killing herself when the walls grumbled and slid into motion.<p>

Wide-eyed, the cadets realized that the walls were literally closing in around them and would continue to do so until the cadets were forced to leave Dr. McCoy to his fate or jump onto the electrified platform.

"Well shit," Wendell said breathlessly. "Now what?"

In the end, Merran had come up with the idea of continually firing at one spot at the corner of the walls in hopes of melting the steel and reaching what had to be delicate cogs underneath. The walls were practically pushing them onto the humming platform when a shriek, slowing and then a groaning of walls brought the whole thing to a halt.

"Is shooting always your solution to everything?" Yang demanded irritably.

"Hey, it's working so far," Merran shrugged pragmatically.

* * *

><p>"I like her! Spock, put Merran on the <em>Enterprise<em> list and don't let Winchester get his grubby mitts on her personnel file."

There was a pause.

"Sir, Captain Winchester has already flagged her. Evidently she has encountered Commander Winchester and made a favourable impression."

"Damn. Put her down anyway. I'll just have to get Winchester drunk and beat him at rock-paper-scissors for first pick. Come on, it's our turn on centre stage."

* * *

><p>The cadets felt they had earned a breather and were regrouping when Dr. McCoy perked up. "Ugh, damn them," he groaned groggily. "The hell? Cadets? I told him I didn't wanna be the damsel!"<p>

The remaining door in the wall slid open and the cadets started firing only to hear a "Whoa! Whoa!"

"Captain Kirk," Wendell breathed in tones usually reserved for church. Merran slapped her fellow cadet's shoulder.

"Get your head in the game," she hissed. "He's clearly an enemy."

"Shit Spock, it's just an exam!" the famous captain yelped and slammed the door shut, phaser fire edging over his shoulder to spatter against the wall. Slumping breathlessly against the solid frame, he glanced up, blue eyes twinkling, phaser lowering to dangle harmlessly at his side. "Oh hey kids! How's it going? Bones, you still sleeping?"

Merran was ready to pull the trigger right off the bat. He could be pretending to be taken over by an alien, in the real world he could be an android, hell, some of the crazier case studies they had looked at had involved hallucinations with deadly consequences.

Yang caught her arm though and she groaned. "Not _another_ fan boy?"

Just then Dr. McCoy came to life spitting a fearsome streak of curses, turning the air blue. "Damned hobgoblin kidnapped me," was where it ended. "Jim, is this what I think it is?"

"Well, if you think Commander Winchester approached Spock a few days ago about testing the cute little cadets over there and you got tapped to play damsel, then you'd be right! I'm supposed to be rescuing you and acting as a wild card for some lucky cadets."

Dr. McCoy did not look impressed at all. The cadets were very confused. Was kidnapping your own CMO for cadet exercises legal?

Merran and Yang narrowed their eyes. Shooting one's ally would be very bad form. On the flip side, something about the story was fishy. Commander Winchester hadn't said anything about allies.

Wendell as usual dove right in and practically bounced over to Captain Kirk, stars in his eyes. Yang slapped his face with a palm, groaning. "Well, if the captain shoots Wendell, we'll know for sure."

Captain Kirk did not, in fact, shoot Wendell. Instead, Captain Kirk helped them shut off the grid, get Dr. McCoy mobile as the paralytic wore off and even stuck his head out into the corridor first "like a real captain should," Wendell sighed and this time Merran, Yang _and_ Dr. McCoy stared at him.

"Get your head out of your ass and start paying attention. You get to lead off just for that sappy moment. At least then you won't get the doctor killed," Yang ordered.

It was a good thing they put the big cadet out first because there was an insanely difficult gauntlet to run before they were home free and quite frankly, Wendell was the best in the class for these situations. His reflexes were top notch, his size made it easy to hurdle over and around obstacles; agility meant going underneath wasn't a big deal and his habit of thinking too quickly served him brilliantly in this situation.

"Damn," Captain Kirk whistled as Wendell threw himself over a table, slid around a corner and nailed the phaser array with one shot.

"Yeah, he's stupidly good like that," Merran growled, following more carefully in case Wendell missed something. He hadn't.

They could see the exit. Passing was so close.

Then Commander Spock appeared, firing with android precision and speed. Cover was hastily taken and ideas exchanged. "He's tall, damn good in a fight and Vulcan-strong. How are you gonna play this?" Captain Kirk asked.

The two male cadets glanced at Merran.

"Oh, seriously? Dude, I pinned the guy _once_ in an entire week of sparring! You all seem to think I'm some sort of hand-to-hand guru!"

"You are!" Wendell encouraged. "Come on. Even I couldn't touch him when he came back for that tutoring session. We still don't know how you did it."

Merran glanced over their upturned table and cursed. "Fuck, _fine_. I'll go take him on if you get the damn phaser out of his hand."

"Are you seriously going to try and fight Spock?" Captain Kirk asked in amusement, in the tone of voice one would usually ask a puff-ball kitten if it really intended to take on the slavering junkyard pitbull. Yang glared at him. They were running out of options and he was pretty sure the captain knew that.

"Only way out of the maze is through him. We had an hour. There are ten minutes left. By my calculations, even if we manage to avoid every trap in the most expedient fashion, the long way around will take us at least twenty five minutes. It's a very long shot, but if Cadet Merran can distract Commander Spock, we may be able to get Dr. McCoy out."

Captain Kirk shrugged. "Fair enough, but have you seen Cadet Merran?" He glanced over her five foot nothing frame and she bristled, irritated as anything by now.

"I'm not saying I'll be able to beat him. But I did manage to pin Commander Winchester to the mat once."

Captain Kirk blinked, impressed. "Really?" _So that was why Winchester wanted her._ "You might have a chance. Don't let him grab you though, or it's all over."

"Wendell, lay out some cover fire," Yang ordered. Between the two of them, they managed to knock the phaser out of Commander Spock's hand as Merran charged over the table, sliding in to engage.

* * *

><p>She was damn good, Kirk gave her that. Fought from her advantages, never gave quarter, had courage, sensibility and spunk. But she was still a cadet, her technique still a little rough around the edges and to win a fight against Spock you needed a significant advantage in at least one area – Dean had sheer experience, Kirk had unpredictability, Sam had an annoyingly calculating style and his size. Cadet Merran didn't have any unique advantage yet. Kirk figured she'd manage to gain experience and technique and in a few years, she'd be able to take on Spock seriously.<p>

As it was…

* * *

><p>Merran shouted "Go!" and twisted into a hold that Commander Spock broke in seconds. But the few seconds were long enough for Wendell to yank both Captain Kirk and Dr. McCoy to the door before she was dealt a quick nerve-pinch.<p>

The door swished open, Wendell moved to step forward, dragging Dr. McCoy with him and then –

Then Captain Kirk drugged Dr. McCoy, stabbed Wendell with another hypo and Commander Spock nerve-pinched Yang.

* * *

><p>"Wakey, wakey sunshines. If you run really fast and if we don't shoot you, you might be able to make it to the door in time to pass. But you'll have to carry Dr. McCoy because he'll be out for another hour or so."<p>

Wendell groaned at the far too cheerful voice and lifted a head only to feel a strange squish, an odd jiggling sensation. Glancing around dazedly, he realized he had been flopped out in a vat of blue raspberry Jell-O and as a result, his phaser was fried. Merran was playing dead, Yang was still coming out of it and Dr. McCoy was slumped by the door. They were back in the room where they had first found Dr. McCoy.

And Wendell noticed that the electrified platform was now hooked up to the vat of Jell-O.

Captain Kirk, the sly bastard.

Yang borrowed several of Dr. McCoy's curses as he groggily sat up, officially joining the living, thinking at a thousand parsecs a second.

"So," Captain Kirk spun his phaser idly. "Do I shoot you or not?"

With a growl, a very woozy Merran tried to kick his feet out from under him and got shot for her pains. Wendell took the distraction and tried to weave to his feet, managing a loose, sloppy punch that Captain Kirk shook his head at before casually pulling the trigger.

Thank god Wendell was predictable because Yang had taken the opportunity to shove Dr. McCoy out the door, slam said door shut and shoot the door controls with the only un-fried phaser before his vest buzzed and the world went black.

* * *

><p>"So?" Commander Winchester eyed his bruised, battered class. He almost chuckled at the death glares his entire class were sending towards Captain Kirk and his first officer. "Who passed, Captain Kirk?"<p>

The captain shrugged. "Obviously the pudding kids failed. And then there were the gummy worms. Anyone shot by gummy worms didn't pass. Actually, anyone who fell into a trap pretty much fails. Ditto on anyone dead from the phaser array Cadet Merran shot out so nicely. By the way, Ensign Chekov is very irritated that you toasted his experimental crystals so thoroughly, Cadet."

Well, that was nine of twelve cadets.

"And the last three."

Merran, Wendell and Yang held their breaths.

"You work admirably together. Still, you made a crucial error in judgement. Honestly, if you had been in any class other than Advanced Infiltration and Extraction, several of you would have passed the course. But when you are infiltrating a base, the mission is a success when you come out with the target and _only_ the target. A friendly native may volunteer to lay down his life for your cause, only to shoot you on the transporter pad, much like I did. The best bit of creative thinking was Yang's last gambit of shoving Dr. McCoy out into the corridor and sealing the room shut. Well-executed and well thought out under extreme pressure. I still think you all failed, but the final decision is up to Commander Winchester."

There was an awkward pause.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Cadet Yang."

"What was with the pudding, candy and Jell-O?"

Captain Kirk smirked infuriatingly. "That's…classified."

* * *

><p>Chief Security Officer Jo Harvelle was sulking mightily as she watched the footage of the class with Dean, Jim, John, Spock and Sam, trying to figure out how to grade the cadets. "You didn't ask the security personnel from either <em>Impala<em> or _Enterprise_. If I were of a suspicious turn of mind, I'd say it displayed a distinct lack of confidence in my ability to do my job."

Dean grinned fondly at her and sat back, still chuckling over one cadet's epic fall. "If we turned you and Cupcake loose on them, they'd be dead. Literally. Either from fear of you or the course you'd set up. I saw you and Cupcake training together. It's terrifying."

Jo wasn't appeased. "I still want to play with them."

"You can't, 'cause I'm pretty sure the _Enterprise_ crew scarred them. Put a whole new spin on the idea of a no-win situation. If _Enterprise_ scarred 'em, you'll break 'em into little bits and then I'll be in trouble with Chandra. Again." Dean watched his father scribble away at his report, a frown wrinkling his forehead.

The door to John's office slammed open and Jim swiftly ducked under the desk as Spock actually shifted just that bit so he was out of the line of fire.

A very wrathful Bones stormed in, kicking viciously under the table. A sad 'ouch' resounded but Jim wisely remained in his fortress. "Sir," McCoy gritted out, fiery eyes locked on a slightly afraid Dean. "I'd like to request a transfer to the _Impala_."

Dean put on his best bullshit smile and tried to frame a refusal that would allow him to escape the room with his skin intact as Sam made noises about refilling the popcorn bowl before escaping. "Traitor!" Dean called after his sibling, who waved sympathetically but didn't stop.

"Dr. McCoy, as thanks for your participation today," John said absentmindedly, still watching the vid. He reached into the deep desk drawer and pulled out a beautifully big bottle of genuine Romulan ale. Bones stopped glaring at John, nodding thanks and mellowing just a tiny bit. Romulan ale was hard to come by these days.

A second squawk resounded from under the desk. "What? You said you didn't have any left!"

John raised an eyebrow. "I said I didn't have any for _you_. Drugging your CMO twice? And you didn't warn him about the second time? I ain't defending you. I'm crazy, not stupid. McCoy, if you're going to assassinate your captain, do it out of my office, I have finals to grade."

"Sure thing John. Mind booting him out from under your desk?"

Wisely, John extricated a yelping Jim and shoved him towards the door ruthlessly. Captain Kirk was still young and it seemed he still had to learn the number one rule of all starship infirmaries: Never mess with the CMO. Especially if it seems like it'll be fun.

After Jim had been dragged out of the office by his ears, Sam poked his head back in. "Is it safe?"

Dean glared. "Chicken."

"Hey, I'm alive and unscarred, aren't I? I prefer to think of it as pragmatic."

John spoke up without lifting eyes from his PADD. "Boys, if you're just going to bicker, leave Jo and I in peace. Spock, be brave and go save your captain from your CMO."

The _Enterprise_'s first officer did not look enthused. "We'll remember your noble sacrifice," Dean said solemnly, holding the door open with a wide flourish and a very fancy salute.

Spock stalked out in high dudgeon and Dean had to swallow a grin, just in time to catch a very nasty glare from the Vulcan.

If Spock had been human, he definitely would have flipped Dean the bird.

* * *

><p>The results were posted two days after the Incident-That-Shall-Not-Be-Mentioned. New myths were already elevating Captain Kirk's name to stratospheric heights, especially since the famed, tough AIE students shuddered at the mention of _Enterprise_ and glared with new-found hatred at pudding, gummy worms and Jell-O.

To everyone's relief, the _Enterprise_ crew no longer appeared on the security rosters as mock-mission assistants.

Half the AI/E class scraped through the class with a pass. Merran, Yang and Wendell were the only trio with a mark higher than 70%. The Academy launched an investigation into the class, but Commander Winchester pointed out that infiltration/extraction missions never went as planned and his job was to put cadets through an impossible wringer in the Academy so that they could face space with at least some idea of what they were heading into.

The Academy allowed that he was right.

Captain Kirk and his people were still barred from the mock-mission roster, despite their willingness to volunteer for all AI/E 465 exams from that point onward.

The cadets threw the party of the year in relieved celebration

Reportedly, Captain Kirk was bummed for an entire week.


	7. Shop Talk

I do not own Star Trek 2009 or Supernatural.

The short...story (?) below was inspired by a small tidbit mentioned by the fantabulous MarzBarz. :)

* * *

><p>Captains are notorious gossips. They love to talk, mostly about how their lives are made difficult by various subordinates under them. And one fine beta-shift, the best two examples of Starfleet's chattering biddies were sitting side by side waiting for their first officers to finish up whatever it was first officers did. Honestly, the only components missing from this blissful image of gossipy domesticity were the knitting projects and sixty thousand cats.<p>

If one were to listen in on a gossip session, the conversation might have run somewhat like this...

* * *

><p>"Ugh, you have got to be kidding me. Again?" Jim sighed dramatically and sat back, rubbing his temples.<p>

Dean shook his head. "I know right? Geez, Sam's so demanding. It's like you give the dude a scientific anomaly, expect him to shut up for a few weeks like he says he will and then two freakin' days later, he's bitching because he's bored and I won't let him and alpha shift play with explosives. I keep telling him I'm crazy, not stupid! Alpha shift and explosives is only a good combination when I want to blow the _Impala _up because they seem to be incapable of building a reliable timer of sorts. And in the meantime, Sam's needling at me to take on just one or two or ten scientific side runs off our courier route. I swear, he's worse than a woman!"

Jim threw his hands open dramatically. "I have to find new stuff to run into so Spock doesn't know I'm trying to keep him occupied. Otherwise he says stuff like "It is illogical to weigh the personal intellectual satisfaction of one individual over the needs of Starfleet," but the last time I left him without anything to do, he and the chemistry lab accidentally let laughing gas loose in the ventilation shafts just as the delegations from Beta Gamma 23 arrived. The uptight ones, you know? They were mortally offended by the fact that they couldn't stop laughing. Chandra's still pissed that I had to give them an extra 5% to close the negotiations. And that's not counting what happened when Scotty tried to teach him how to make hooch."

"Was it any good?" Dean was curious.

"It ate a hole in the bottom of the beer pitcher. What do you think?"

"Damn, that's…"

"The fumes alone were enough to make you blind."

"That's either astoundingly good or astronomically bad."

"Consumption, bad. Molotov cocktails? Good. Solved our hostile problem nicely and got my away team out of a sticky spot. Also gained us the nickname "Fire-Raining Gods," which I thought was cool but Uhura, Spock and Bones didn't, which was totally lame. Then everything on the _Enterprise_ was quiet until Spock decided that further experimentation in an enclosed space was required. The worst part of this whole thing is he's like a machine. I'm screwed either way – my crew is exhausted but Spock's occupied or Spock's bored silly and the crew's still alive."

Dean nodded sympathetically. "I get it, man. I totally get it. Hey, when are you on shore leave next?"

"_Captain_."

"_Dean_."

"Oh hey Sammy!" The _Impala_'s captain grinned cheerfully.

Jim waved at his first officer. "Spock! My man! We found an anomalous gas cloud to study, but we've got to beat the _Impala_ there or Sam gets his grubby little mitts on it and we have to go run another diplomatic mission. Whaddaya say, feel like breaking another speed record?"

The two first officers glared at their captains. "I would like to remind you," Sam said stiffly, "that discussions of a personal nature are not supposed to occur over official channels. _And especially not on the bridge_. What if Chandra called and you two were in the middle of your little heart-to-heart?"

"Additionally Captain, it is highly unprofessional bitch about the superior efficiency and intelligence of your first officer in front of the senior bridge crew."

Dean was impressed and said so. "Damn Jim, Spock's popular vernacular is getting better and better."

"The _bridge_, Dean." Yikes. Sam hadn't pulled out a bitchface that bad since the night Dean had decided to…yeah. Dean was trying to repress those memories.

Anyway.

The two captains blinked, looking around for the first time.

Chekov was red as a tomato. Sulu's shoulders were shaking with laughter. Uhura was pointedly ignoring the blatant idiocy. Ash was grinning like a highly entertained mad man. Jo was clearly resisting the urge to roll on the floor in peals of laughter. Castiel had that look on his face, the one that said "my captain is killing my precious, prized brain cells with his stupidity." And the various younger ensigns and lieutenants dotting the edge of _Enterprise_'s bridge were trying to keep their surprise under wraps.

"They don't mind," Dean commented. "It's not like they're going to say anything. It's nice and private."

Sam glared some more. Maybe he had overheard the woman comment after all.

Spock's expression wasn't any friendlier. "Captain, I have stated time and time again that the chain of events leading up to the laboratory explosion involving Mr. Scott's alcohol were not of my doing nor were they authorized. Perhaps I should summon Dr. McCoy or Dr. Harvelle. They may have a suitable cure for your regression into childhood."

"Excellent postulation, Spock. Perhaps this is worth our investigation. A maturation serum would be invaluable." Sam was already hauling out a PADD.

Jim and Dean froze. They were being blackmailed into good behaviour. First officers were sneaky bastards. Bored first officers were vindictive, touchy, sneaky bastards.

"And I'm quite certain that Lieutenant-Commander Uhura still doesn't know about the – "

Sam clammed up as a boot connected with his shin and Uhura perked up. Kirk had frozen and Dean's face paled. "You know, I think we've outstayed our welcome. We'll just meet up next shore leave, yeah?"

"That would be best," Spock stated calmly.

"If you can't resist the urge to measure up before then, maybe you'll consider being pen pals," Sam suggested sarcastically. "And your next little sleep-over can involve pretty pink nail polish."

"You'd know where to find that polish and the matching tutu, right Sam?" Note to self – smart-ass retorts to a righteously irritated Sam are never a good idea. Especially when he's teamed up with Spock.

"Captain, I believe this conversation is over. _Impala_ out," Sam snapped, a vengeful long arm reaching out for his brother just as the _Enterprise's_ screen flipped to hyperspace.

"What's this I hear about you being an ass?" Bones demanded as soon as he cleared the elevator doors. Kirk said a brief prayer for Dean and himself. They'd gone a bit far, Kirk could admit, but nothing to require CMO action. Bones wasn't going to decide Kirk needed more immune boosters. They had just been sharing opinions on various things. They hadn't been bitching.

Right?


	8. The Simulation

I do not own Star Trek 2009 or Supernatural

* * *

><p>"We're assigned to <em>what<em>?"

Captains Dean Winchester and Jim Kirk were squeaking like ten year old girls at ballet practice although they would deny it vociferously after the fact.

"You heard me. Every other captain has done their duty. Now it's your turn. You both have to report to the Academy with your bridge staff to face off against a cadet crew to give them some sense of what it's like to be in a combat situation. You'll be in the simulation rotation three days a week for a month."

Kirk scowled. He had an exploratory mission to a _very_ interesting set of people out past the Delta Sector and his crew had been looking forward to it for weeks. "Sir, you do remember the exam incident?"

Pike grinned. "Kirk, you've exhausted the mileage on that one. Next thing you know, you'll be on the exam roster again. How about this? The admirals are setting up a tournament."

The two captains leaned forward and Pike internally laughed. They were so easy. Mention competition and their ears perked right up. "Every person in Starfleet – cadet, ensign, secretary, captain, admiral or officer – can gather a crew. You come in to any starbase at the scheduled time and run a simulation against another crew, who could be in the same simulator or across the galaxy. The whole thing's virtual and it's set up to simulate battles in space. If you lose once, you're out. Last crew standing is awarded a lovely three week paid vacation on a shore leave planet of their choice."

Pike couldn't help it. He snickered.

The two captains were glaring at each other with intense interest.

Suddenly, they didn't mind coming into the Academy to play teacher.

* * *

><p><em>Round 1 – Enterprise<em>

Kirk blinked at the opposing crew before raising a hand. "Yes?" the referee asked.

"Are you _sure_ this is fair?" he asked cautiously. The entire senior bridge crew of the _Enterprise_ had agreed to team up with Kirk, angling to win the three week vacation. They were a formidable group.

On the other side of the screen, a giggling gaggle of secretaries batted eyelashes, fiddled with controls and checked their makeup, cooing at the famous _Enterprise_ crew.

The referee, a retired Miranda-class pilot himself, shrugged helplessly.

"All right-y then," Kirk sighed.

* * *

><p><em>Round 1 – Impala<em>

"You are going to taste bitter defeat, Winchester!"

Dean examined the crew in front of him critically. If he were politically savvy, he'd put up a good fight and then gracefully lose, allowing Admiral Cartwright and his group of experienced Starfleet retirees (rule-bound old farts) to save face.

"Sam?"

"_Enterprise_ won her first round match in eight minutes, forty two seconds." Sam shrugged. "They were up against a crew of secretaries."

Screw politically savvy.

* * *

><p><em>Round 2 – Enterprise<em>

"The _Impala_ did _what_ in seven minutes, fifty seconds?" Kirk demanded.

"That's right," Dean grinned, plunking himself down at the end of the picnic table on the Academy's quad, yawning and stretching in the sun. "Geez, what do they teach kids these days? I hear ten of the sixteen cadet crews were eliminated already."

"Winchester, what the hell were you thinking? Cartwright already hates your guts and you just happened to make him look like an incompetent dolt?"

"Beat your time though, didn't I?"

Spock set down his sandwich and stared curiously at the _Impala_'s captain. "I was not aware that the competition was timed, Captain Winchester." Dean shrugged cheerily as Kirk stared daggers through his skull.

"It's not, Spock. He's just being a jackass because he knows we're facing the _Constellation_'s crew next and the chances of us beating them in under 7:50 are virtually nil."

"Challenges encourage growth, broaden your horizons and force you to become all you can be!" Dean's shit-eating grin grew larger. "You could always just give in."

"Not freaking likely." Kirk stood up abruptly. "You're on, Winchester."

_Enterprise _broke several records as she just barely managed to beat the _Constellation_ by the skin of Jim Kirk's crazily genius teeth in exactly 00:07:48:86.

Kirk was insufferable, crowing about how it would have been faster had they been actually competing with the _Enterprise_ instead of some standard Starfleet simulator.

In fact, the word was spreading so quickly that Starfleet authorized a TV crew to write a story on it and people started demanding to watch the competition on TV as a sport.

* * *

><p><em>Round 2 – Impala<em>

Dean was determined to beat _Enterprise_'s time once more but now they were into the stiffer competition – the serious Academy command crews, experienced starship crews who had been serving together for a good chunk of time (apparently _Constellation_'s new crew was still working out the kinks).

_Impala_ managed to pull through brilliantly, but it cost them in time. The young Academy crew was really quite good and the captain had fully understood who exactly he was facing up against. Dean had to give him props for trying several ingenious manoeuvres and giving it his all, causing Ash to swear once and Cas to focus (the pilot had looked positively bored up until this point).

They shook hands amiably after the match was concluded and Dean offered the kid a place on the _Impala_ as soon as he graduated.

"Well look-it you, mentoring the little kiddies," Kirk smirked, elbowing his friend. "By the way, I call dibs on his first officer! Can't let you ruin all the good candidates."

Dean scoffed in amusement. "You're just sore 'cause I beat you to the kid."

* * *

><p><em>Round 3 – Enterprise<em>

"Oh shit. We are _so_ dead," Kirk moaned, slumping in the chair he seemed glued to these days – when he wasn't competing, he was single-handedly toasting Academy first year command students. The rest of his crew was off teaching in their specialized fields (Kirk had to check in on them every now and then to make sure Chekov wasn't cheerfully dragging dazed navigators through advanced physics and Bones hadn't made another trainee-CMO cry).

"I do not understand, Captain," Spock queried, looking up from his work in the corner. Spock had been transferred in from the science department after Kirk had started handing out grades based on who impressed him the most (one enterprising cadet had hacked into the engineering sim and equipped his ship with super-powered bazookas. Kirk was elated. Admiral Chandra was not).

Kirk waved at his PADD. "Our next opponent," he said mournfully, as if pronouncing _Enterprise_'s impending funeral arrangements, "is Admiral Pike and his chosen crew."

"A worthy adversary," Spock commented calmly. Too calmly, with a delighted glint deep in his dark eyes.

"You think this is going to be fun? Spock, if we don't bring our A-game, the _Impala _will have bragging rights until forever amen!"

Dean burst through the classroom door, trailed by an exasperated Sam. "Haha, _suckers_! We salute your valiant sacrifice and promise to avenge your demise." Kirk tossed the PADD to one side, resolve firming in his clenched fists. "Oh, is little Jimmy going to try his best?" Dean teased.

Kirk suddenly relaxed, a lazy grin spreading across his face as an idea occurred to him. "Hell, Starfleet must know that _Enterprise_ likes a challenge or two along the road to glory. Unlike the _Impala_, who clearly needs all the help she can get."

"Is that an example of a 'burn,' Captain?" Spock asked with dry amusement.

"I do believe it is, Mr. Spock."

* * *

><p><em>Enterprise<em> won. Barely. After three hours of wild firing, piloting and mad derring-do, _Enterprise_ fought Pike's crew to a standstill and forced Pike's surrender. "Well done, Captain," Pike congratulated as his crew grinned at the wrung-out _Enterprise_ members.

"Thank you, sir. It was an honour," Kirk replied sincerely, standing at attention as Pike's older crew filed out of the simulator. "We'd love to learn from you any time."

Pike smirked. "Laying on the flattery just a tad thick, Kirk. We're old fogies and we know it. Just in it for the game." He and his cane carefully limped off the bridge with Kirk shaking his head behind him.

Just in it for the game.

What a load of utter bullshit.

Kirk hadn't come that close to losing since the _Narada_.

* * *

><p><em>Round 3 – Impala<em>

An irritated _Impala_ chewed through the arrogant rookie crew manning one of the shiny new Miranda-class ships in record time.

It wasn't a very interesting match, hardly broadcast at all.

_Enterprise_ gloated something fierce. After all, _they_ had beaten Admiral Pike.

* * *

><p><em>Fast-forward – Enterprise vs. Impala<em>

There were a few surprises along the road and more than a few great crews who made both _Impala_ and _Enterprise_ sweat. Honestly, in the deepest, darkest, kindest, most secret cockles of their hearts, Dean and Jim were glad to see that Starfleet had good, talented people.

The _Impala_ and _Enterprise_ weren't the only great ships in Starfleet.

But that had fallen to the wayside. All superfluous considerations had been stripped aside. A new simulator was being built on the Academy quad, with a live TV broadcast all over the Federation. People were streaming to Earth or tuning into the vids and placing wagers.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, two months after the competition began, round 20 – the final match – was ramping up to be of great and epic proportions. For the first time in their short, illustrious careers, the _Enterprise_ and the _Impala_ would be on opposite sides of a conflict, direct opponents.

Enemies.

They both wanted three weeks of _paid_ shore leave.

And friends weren't going to get in the way, although it was already worked out that the winners would buy the losers a night out at the only bar in San Francisco that still let both crews into the establishment at the same time.

Cracking his knuckles cheerfully, Kirk grinned at the _Impala_ crew in their shiny seats, shifting uncomfortably. "Not used to new and squeaky?" he teased.

"God Kirk, how did you stand it?" Winchester complained, wriggling in the slippery captain's seat.

"Sandpaper and a good baseball bat," Kirk replied knowledgeably.

Over in the Admirals' box, several of those august individuals turned various shades of eggplant at hearing their personally recommended ergonomic captains' seats had been mauled into compliancy. Pike was wishing he'd thought of the baseball bat when he realized Chandra was poking thoughtfully at his own stiff seat.

Smothering a grin, he nodded to the referee. "Ahem!" The referee coughed importantly. "The rules are as follows. There will be absolutely _no_ hacking of the simulator's computer code."

Kirk looked indignant at the seemingly thousand pairs of eyes focused on him and muttered mutinously "Hack one _teeny_ little code just _once_ and it haunts you for the rest of your damn career."

He clammed up as the referee shot him a jaundiced glare. "There will be no external factors involved. The only ships present in the simulation will be the USS _Impala_ and the USS _Enterprise_, although for the purposes of this simulation, both ships will be given the qualities of the new experimental Galaxy-class starships."

Sulu and Castiel looked very unhappy at this. The first prototypes of the new Galaxy-class ships were enormous and as Scotty put it, "Look like a great pair of bloated boobies* w'no elegance nor class." On top of that, they were unwieldy to pilot and accelerated oddly.

"We could take the _Enterprise _with the _Impala_, who needs this great big hunk of junk," Ash grumbled, punching at the weirdo new console that seemed to defy logic. Several members of the _Enterprise _crew snorted at that idea. The referee tried to burn a hole in Ash's mullet. It wasn't working, nor did it quench the disgruntled crews.

"Other than that, it's a battle to surrender. You will begin at 20 000 kilometres in distance, ships fully functional at red alert. Begin in 3…2…1!"

And it was on.

* * *

><p>"<em>Impala"<em>

Both ships rattled and pounded under a heavy barrage of fire. "Woo-hoo! Standin' toe to toe, slugging it out with _Enterprise_!" Dean crowed at the top of his lungs.

"Captain, shields at 85% and dropping!" Ash reported as Castiel struggled to bring the big ship around. Clearly Sulu was used to a bigger ship. _Enterprise _was already coming about, bringing phasers to fire faster than the _Impala._

"Come on Cas, I have faith in you," Dean urged and Castiel swore sharply before killing internal gravity and throwing the ship into a dive. Sam took the opportunity to rake the _Enterprise_ fore and aft as Ash skewed sensors and messed with navigational vectors in an attempt to throw _Enterprise_ off course.

* * *

><p>"<em>Enterprise"<em>

"Shields at 87% and holding, Captain," Spock reported calmly. Kirk smirked grimly in satisfaction. Winchester had forgotten that not every ship in the Fleet could take abuse like the_ Impala_ and if things kept going this way, they'd have this thing in the bag after an hour.

Of course, Winchester wasn't stupid.

"_Impala_ shields holding at approximately 80%. It appears they are adapting, Captain. Sensors are rendered inaccurate."

"Sulu, bring her about. I want to make the _Impala _dance."

* * *

><p><em>Four hours later…Admiralty <em>

"Good lord, how long will this go on?" Cartwright demanded and Pike shrugged, eyes glued to the screen.

"You had to know it would happen when you drew this tournament up," he remarked idly. "They've seen more combat in the past year than most new captains experience in their first ten. And they're still with us."

Chandra sighed and checked his chrono. "Honestly, it's a fantastic demonstration of skill, but it's getting old."

Cartwright took the initiative. "I'm calling it. It'll be a tie. We'll just award the prizes to both crews."

So they did just that as Pike waited rather gleefully for the fireworks.

* * *

><p>"<em>What<em>?" the crews chorused like disappointed children.

"A tie?" Kirk was aghast at the idea.

"Dude, a tie's like…like kissing your sister!" Winchester chimed in. Sam kicked his brother's shin.

"Did not need that mental image, Dean."

Chandra held up his hands in an attempt to placate the irritated officers. "You'll both get the honour and you'll both win the prize."

"Wait a second," Kirk broke in. "The prize is three weeks on _any_ shore leave planet?" Chandra nodded. Kirk grinned. "I know where I wanna go! I'll stay right here. Winchester, I'm game to continue whenever you're free."

"Genius, my man, sheer genius is what you are."

"Why thank you." Kirk held the simulator door open. "After you."

Chandra groaned in a very un-admiral-ish manner.

* * *

><p>An amendment to the competition rules went up a week later as Starfleet started planning for next year. The <em>Enterprise<em> and _Impala_ bridge crews were not allowed to compete in groups of two or more individuals from the same ship – in short, Kirk and Winchester had to create crews from scratch.

They didn't seem to care much, since they'd managed to wrangle the flight simulator away from the Admiralty and hadn't been seen in a week, still struggling to finish that same simulation.

When the weary crews did emerge, they refused to discuss who won or how it ended.

A curious admiral went poking around in the computer and found it completely toasted, wiped clean.

After that, _Impala _and_ Enterprise _never competed against each other crew to crew again (one on one was another story).

* * *

><p>*boobies – UK slang for mistake. Not sure if it applies to Scotsmen…if it doesn't, kindly inform the Canadian author and she'll fix it!<p> 


	9. Crossing Uhura

I do not own Star Trek 2009 or Supernatural.

Hell hath no fury like a woman with an abused musical instrument, trust me…

* * *

><p>From <em>Shop Talk<em>…

_Spock's expression wasn't any friendlier. "Captain, I have stated time and time again that the chain of events leading up to the laboratory explosion involving Mr. Scott's alcohol were not of my doing nor were they authorized. Perhaps I should summon Dr. McCoy or Dr. Harvelle. They may have a suitable cure for your regression into childhood."_

_"Excellent postulation, Spock. Perhaps this is worth our investigation. A maturation serum would be invaluable." Sam was already hauling out a PADD._

_Jim and Dean froze. They were being blackmailed into good behaviour. First officers were sneaky bastards. Bored first officers were vindictive, touchy, sneaky bastards._

_"And I'm quite certain that Lieutenant-Commander Uhura still doesn't know about the – "_

_Sam clammed up as a boot connected with his shin and Uhura perked up. Kirk had frozen and Dean's face paled._

* * *

><p>"Lieutenant-Commander Uhura doesn't know about what?" Uhura muttered curiously under her breath, having just been dismissed from the bridge. Wracking her brain over the past few months, she came up with several incidents that had her captain and his weirdo friend written all over them but nothing to cause such terror in her superior officers.<p>

Settling into her favourite chair in her quarters, she sipped at a nicely brewed oolong tea and puzzled over the problem. When her cup was empty, she was still no closer to an answer.

Then she remembered. There had been a period of four days where her guitar had been missing.

Her beautiful, hand-crafted rose-wood antique acoustic guitar, brought into existence generations ago by her great-great grandfather and passed down to Uhura only after she demonstrated a deep-seated passion and dedication towards music.

The instrument had reappeared in her quarters unharmed after the entire ship had witnessed the calm, collected communications officer threaten each and every member of the crew (Vulcan boyfriend included) with prolonged audio torture via the intercom system unless it was returned.

Why Kirk and Winchester would want her guitar was of course beyond her, especially when they knew she'd lend it to them (probably. Maybe. Okay, so she wouldn't have lent it to the two ham-handed captains. But that was beside the point). But it was the work of a few minutes to pull up the four days' worth of security footage and scour the vids for sneaking captains.

Oh yeah.

They'd taken her guitar.

* * *

><p>Kirk was ambling through the <em>Enterprise<em>'s corridors the next morning, slurping away cheerfully at his coffee and waving to just about everyone not preoccupied with work. It was a good morning. They were on a standard first contact meet-and-greet, the natives were friendly, the ship was in one piece, they were parsecs away from the Neutral Zone or any hotspots – in short, this could be the mission from heaven. Just interesting enough to keep Kirk from tearing his hair out in boredom, quiet enough to keep Bones happy, and that was an exceedingly rare medium in Kirk's line of work.

So when he merrily stepped into his ready room and glanced around, he noticed an inordinate amount of amusement burbling up from his collected, professional senior officers. "What's up?" he asked cautiously.

A stiff, cool Uhura handed him a very ruffled, flounced pink concoction. Kirk shook it out and held it at arm's length. "It's very pretty Uhura, but it's not Starfleet standard. I'm afraid you can't wear it down to the planet," he ventured carefully. This could be a repeat of the PMS incident and no male on the ship _ever_ wanted to see that come to pass again.

His communications officer raised an elegant eyebrow. "It's not Starfleet regulation sir, but the chieftains of the indigenous people will think much more of our landing party should you choose to adhere to their formal chieftain wear."

Kirk blinked. She'd never said anything about formal wear before this. Usually Uhura was all over that sort of cultural stuff right off the bat. But hey, her word was gold.

Mostly.

If Kirk hadn't been doing this for the furthering of Starfleet's orders and if he hadn't been so secure in his masculinity, he never would have touched the dress. It had lace and ruffles and bows and little beads – in short, a princess dress.

He frowned for a minute. He didn't remember the pictures of the indigenous people being this…advanced. Kirk was going to hand the dress back when he caught the fierce expression on Uhura's face.

She wanted him to wear the dress.

Jim Kirk was not whipped by his best friend's girlfriend, no.

He just _really _wanted to wear that dress.

Really.

* * *

><p><em>Impala<em>

Dean Winchester was still sniggering over the hysterical vid of a group of natives rolling in the dirt laughing at a very Cinderella-pretty Jim Kirk when Sam stiffened at his console. Bless Sulu and his twisted sense of humour, the man had filmed the incident and then made copies of copies to keep Jim from eliminating all the fun.

"Trouble?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head jerkily and Dean raised an eyebrow.

Sam was nervous but he hadn't exactly lied.

It wasn't trouble, but it was definitely something scary. Maybe Sam had screwed up on one of his articles, misspelled antidisestablishmentarianism or something equally utterly elementary, unforgivable and awful in Sam's OCD little world.

He left Sam to it.

Big mistake.

* * *

><p>They were going on an away mission to a planet where the atmosphere wasn't breathable and naturally everyone had to wear these funky masks with their little oxygen scrubbers. Dean had been preparing a very nice speech for ages (okay, he started it last night but everyone knew he was the king of bullshit) and planned to sound very captain-like and official to make the natives feel important.<p>

According to these people, a deep, strong voice was very important, as was a good first impression and the sense of a powerful leader. Dean was confident he could pull off all of these requirements no problem.

Yet Sammy wouldn't look him in the eye the whole time he handed over Dean's O2 mask but Dean checked it over, found nothing out of the ordinary and shrugged. Even if Dean had starched his brother's socks again, Sam wouldn't endanger his health by handing Dean a faulty breather.

So Dean clapped it on, squared his shoulders and activated the transporter.

He had just rematerialized and waved in greeting when he heard a little 'pop' and a hiss. Pausing, he re-inventoried. No nasty smells, no fainting, no taste, nothing. Dean glanced over at Sam, who was fiddling with a recalcitrant tricorder.

Huh.

He took a deep breath and promptly squeaked hello like a chipmunk on sugar.

* * *

><p><em>Enterprise<em>

Uhura was rolling on the floor laughing at the two vids paused side by side on her private view screen as Spock eyed her with curiosity and no small trepidation as she wheezed and gasped hysterically.

Captain Dean Winchester couldn't take off the mask, couldn't insult the natives by leaving and had to get Sam to explain very quickly that it was a practical joke. Thankfully the indigenous people had a good sense of humour and got it right away (of course she'd checked, she wanted them to pay but not with their lives or careers. Just their pride).

And then there was Captain Jim Kirk, doing his damndest to look like a captain in a pretty, frilly dress wile the planetary representative eyed him like he'd sprouted a second head.

"Is it truly that funny? I do not see how the mutual embarrassment of two Starfleet captains could induce such a reaction," Spock finally asked as Uhura marshalled herself.

"Oh yes. It's that funny," she panted, clutching her sides.

Spock tipping his head to one side in genuine bewilderment set her off again.

* * *

><p>Kirk was just getting past the whole dress fiasco (the village elder had asked Kirk if he was feeling conflicted about his gender and had said in a very kind, grandfatherly tone of voice that some sexual confusion in the early years was to be expected) when he heard his communications officer cackling like a witch, even through closed doors.<p>

He promptly wheeled about and scuttled down the hall.

Discretion was the better part of valour, after all, and there was absolutely no shame in a strategic retreat.


	10. On Being the Captain

I do not own Star Trek 2009 or Supernatural

* * *

><p>It was surprising how often the different members of the <em>Enterprise<em> or _Impala _command crew had to defend their captains, even if it was as simple as refusing to be surprised when their captains knew _exactly_ what to do in the most ridiculous situations.

* * *

><p>For example, Ash, Dean, a few security goons and a very snotty brat of an ambassador were grounded on this backwards dirtball of a planet where two warring factions were doing their level best to destroy each other. <em>Impala<em> was busy. Doing what exactly, the away team didn't know because the comms were down but if Sam wasn't answering it was because shit was hitting the fan upstairs.

Which was spectacularly unhelpful at the moment given that they were being charged by what passed for cavalry on the planet. Centipedes, Ash grumbled to himself, the natives were riding over-sized centipedes about the height of horses and approximately twenty feet in length. These bugs chittered and chattered and crawled and gave Ash a severe case of the heebie-jeebies. Unfortunately, the city walls they were currently hiding behind wouldn't hold for long. Granted, there were only about six of the centipede things, but they were big, creepy and could crawl over the walls if given half an hour or so.

"Ash, get your skinny genius ass over here yesterday!" Dean shouted and Ash whipped around from where he had been firing his pitiful little phaser at the purple-blue centipede-thingies just on principle.

Ash tried to keep his mouth from falling open. Dean was looking very proud of himself, patting a rather impressive looking cannon cobbled together out of what seemed to be really wide bamboo strapped around with brassy-looking metal rings, propped up on a cart. Hot damn. Captain did it again.

Naturally, the cannon worked. They routed the cavalry, Sam came down and did the neurotic ambassador's job (after explaining the _Impala_ had had a little trouble with a rouge Klingon bird of prey) and they all went home. Happily ever after.

Ash was sitting in the rec room watching the stars slip by at warp 5 when the ambassador tapped him nervously on the shoulder. "Can I ask you something?" the rather young-ish man asked and Ash belatedly remembered that this was the kid's second mission ever and really they should have cut the nerd just a little more slack.

Thus, Ash shrugged and replied politely enough, "Shoot."

"How exactly did Captain Winchester know that the cannon would work? For that matter, how does he know how to build a cannon? That's barely plausible. He could have gotten us all killed!" The ambassador actually wrung his hands.

Ash blinked several times.

"Of course it's not plausible for the captain to know how to compile gunpowder and a cannon out of bamboo and dirt. That's why he's the goddamn captain." Ash stared at the ambassador like he had two heads. "You think we keep him around for his face and retarded sense of humour?"

The ambassador looked startled for a minute, then very confused and Ash shrugged. Either you got it or you didn't.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure this is going to work?"<p>

Captain Kirk kept from rolling his eyes only through Herculean effort. Uhura would have been proud.

"I'm positive this is going to work," he replied with his typical buoyant attitude.

The scientist who had landed them all in this mess looked very skeptical.

Chekov was cautiously optimistic. He'd rather be optimistic than pessimistic and he would like to use some nice formula to calculate their success rate a la Spock but he was pretty sure there wasn't an equation that could even begin to corral Captain Kirk. And heck, if this didn't work, they were dead but at this rate if they didn't try anything at all they would end up dead too and quite frankly, Chekov would rather die trying than sitting around sucking on his thumb.

Whoops, sorry.

The scientist bit his nail, not sucked his thumb. He bit his thumbnail. It was a nervous tic. Genius evidently came with eccentricities, at least according to Dr. Brown, who was very proud of his IQ, two PhDs and his tic.

Chekov wasn't impressed. "Clearly, as a genius myself, my eccentricity eez being normal," he muttered under his breath irritably. Captain Kirk heard him and stifled a snort.

"Mr. Chekov, I hate to break it to you but nothing about you is normal."

"Not by the lower American standards, keptin. I am an excellent specimen of Mother Russia."

"Really," Kirk replied, screwing his face up in concentration as he smeared the compound all over the bottom of the container.

"Certainly, vhich is vhy I am unfortunately of no assistance vhatsoever in this endeawour."

Kirk did roll his eyes this time. "Chekov, it's not meant to be rocket science. Why do you think I'm capable of making this?"

"Keptin, I am wery certain that dis is ze first diplomatic application of this concoction and may I remind you dat if zhis fails, I said ve should have gone vith my idea. Russian ideas are almost alvays better."

"Chekov, believe it or not, but not everything good comes from Russia." Kirk grinned cheekily as he finished with the spatula (or what passed for a spatula on this odd planet).

"Of course, keptin. Russians hev had no need for Mississippi mud pie. It is a wery strange dessert. Tastes wery odd." Chekov wrinkled his nose.

"And yet," Kirk eyed the finished product with a proud eye, "it is going to save our lives. Now then. Remember not to smile, they see it as a threat. Don't worry Dr. Brown, we'll get you back to the starbase in no time at all."

And so they took the strange American dessert out of their kitchen-cell in hopes it would impress their judges. After all, those who can create an epic dessert on Vega 96-T will naturally be pardoned of all criminal wrongdoing, even if an overeager scientist accidentally blew up the planet's only working energy plant (Spock was not going to be impressed with Dr. Brown either).

Naturally, despite Chekov's insistence that they should have gone with something complicated and Russian, the captain was right. The natives loved Mississippi mud pie, even if they couldn't pronounce the name. The dessert became a planetary specialty and a great feast was thrown for the offworlders who had brought such a fantastic sweet to the natives' attention.

"How did the captain know that would work?" Dr. Brown hissed as Chekov saw the scientist to the shuttle.

Chekov stared at him like he was an idiot. "Clearly you are not really a genius. Othervise you vould know dat de keptin is keptin because he alvays knows vhat vill and vill not work."

* * *

><p>"All you brought with you was one damn ship and one damn captain? I asked for a task force of at least ten ships!" The colony commander was turning an impressive shade of purple and Jo was not terribly impressed.<p>

"Calm down commander, this uprising will be settled in a timely manner," Jo reiterated, keeping a weather eye out for trouble. Dean had said to keep the commander in one piece and Jo would manage that come hell or high water.

In the meantime, she had warned Dean that if he got any of her precious security minions killed, she'd be coming after him for blood.

Any other captain would have busted her chops for insubordination.

Dean had grinned and pinkie-promised. Not that Jo would ever tell anyone she linked pinkies with her captain over a bunch of muscle-bound jarheads, all of whom were significantly larger than her.

So she waited patiently, trusting the captain to come through. "He's only the captain of a Miranda-class ship, how much damage can he do?" the commander squawked somewhere from around her elbow. He was a very short, very little man and that was saying something given that Jo herself was probably the shortest member of the _Impala's _bridge crew.

The commander jumped about and squeaked and all Jo could think was "He looks exactly like a fricking mouse," which of course was really funny. Thank goodness a bunch of rebels showed up and she had to fend them off otherwise she'd have to explain to the commander why she was laughing at him.

Of course, five minutes later she was biting her tongue. They had only been able to beam one person in to the commander and she was it. Now Jo was getting overrun and she had nowhere to go.

"We're going to die!" the commander cried in her ear and Jo gritted her teeth.

"The hell we are. Captain'll be here."

That was when the welcome buzz of Federation phasers ran unobtrusively through the conflict and Jo perked up. The captain was here and on a tear, leading the charge with a bruised face, ferocious grin and dishing out punishment like it was going out of style.

"Who the hell is that?" the commander demanded. "He's insane!"

Jo grinned and put a rebel down with a well-aimed heel kick.

"That," she drawled lazily in the gap between enemy down and fresh enemy oncoming, "is Captain Dean Winchester kicking ass and taking names."

* * *

><p>"Are you sure they're doing to make it in time?" the little girl wobbled in a teary tone of voice.<p>

"Absolutely," Sulu told her confidently.

"How do you know?" she asked, wrapping thin arms around his neck as he hoisted her higher on his hip.

"He's Captain Kirk. He always comes."

She sniffled and Sulu hung on tighter. Captain Kirk would come. He would absolutely make it because he knew that Sulu had a whole posse of kids with him and little Anna here was terrified out of her mind.

And honestly, he knew Uhura, Chekov and Bones should have been the ones to come down to the planet because Sulu was an only child and had only baby-sat that one awfully memorable time. But he was the one with piloting experience and he was supposed to just show up, pick up the kids and fly them up to _Enterprise_. Naturally, things had not gone according to plan and now he had exactly thirteen children sniffling and sobbing in their makeshift bomb shelter.

Sulu's plan was foolproof and simple. All he had to do was believe the captain was coming.

"Mommy says Captain Kirk's a hazard to society," Anna informed him solemnly and Sulu chuckled. "What's funny?"

"Well, your mom's kind of right. Captain Kirk _is_ a hazard but only to the bad guys because that's what captains do."

Anna turned this idea over in her head. "Are you sure?"

Sulu raised an eyebrow at her. "Have I been wrong yet?"

"Captain Kirk isn't here yet."

"Yes he is," a new voice said, breathing heavily. "You rang?" Captain Kirk, flushed from his run across open ground, grinned widely.

"Captain!" Sulu almost shouted. When he had said Captain Kirk would come, he _meant_ some sort of transport, a shielded shuttle, transporter, something, well…Sulu sighed. Something sensible.

Right. What had he been thinking?

"Hi Anna, I'm Jim!"

And just like that, another lady fell to the infamous Kirk smile as Anna scrambled out of Sulu's arms and over to Captain Kirk.


	11. Adventures with Alpha Shift

I do not own Star Trek 2009 or Supernatural.

Warning 1: it's Dean. Therefore, there is perhaps more language in this than the usual.

Warning 2: It would not be wise to ingest liquids or foods while reading this account of life on the _Impala_. Do so at your own risk.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Adventures with Alpha Shift<strong>_

_A Scientific Study of Geeks in their Natural Habitat (With Commentary by Captain Dean Winchester)_

_An Introduction to Alpha Shift_

I let Sam build the shifts in the science department and kept my nose out of it back when we were first given the_ Impala_. I had absolutely no idea that he threw alpha shift together as "an experiment in intra-departmental relations" until it was far, far too late to do anything about it.

Translation: Sam thought it'd be fun as hell to put all the pyromaniac geniuses in one shift.

That's all you really need to know.

* * *

><p><em><span>On Explosives<span>_

No matter what alpha shift says, they do not need more explosives. What they have is _always_ enough. I learned that the hard way when they requested a little bit of this and a little bit of that before blowing a power station planet-side sky high as an experiment in a new type of timer. When asked why the hell they didn't just set the timer to flip a mouse trap or something, they all stared at me like I was an alien and said they needed to field-test it in a real-life, practical situation.

I was just glad the little buggers didn't 'field-test' on the _Impala._

After that, I told Sammy I didn't give a shit how much stuff they exploded as long as they didn't blow any holes in the _Impala_'s hull.

* * *

><p><em><span>On Sam<span>_

Sam is alpha shift's god.

They worship the ground he walks on for a whole whack of weirdo reasons but mostly because he rarely joins them in the shenanigans but when he does, the _Impala_ had better be two months out in deep space so no Admirals can interrupt the insanity or wonder why we're all dyed purple.

Again, I said I didn't give a damn what they did to themselves, but if they dyed Ellen colours again, I wouldn't stand in the way of her revenge.

Apparently Ellen is very creative with her application of hallucinogens.

Sam thought this great inspirational fun. He and alpha shift moved from dyeing people colours to trying to pipe laughing gas into the ventilation system.

Like I said, Sam is alpha shift's god.

* * *

><p><em><span>On Ellen<span>_

Ellen is quite possibly the only person on the _Impala_ apart from me and Sam who can strike the fear of God (Sammy or otherwise) into alpha shift.

The hallucinogens were only the tip of the ice berg.

Apparently that round of physicals were very…invasive.

* * *

><p><em><span>On Acids<span>_

Alpha shift loves their acids. They can introduce acids into just about everything, including the transporter.

Apparently they took exception to the last Klingon ship interrupting their deep space halogen gas experiment.

I sat back to laugh hysterically as the Klingons ran around like mindless cockroaches trying to keep the acid from rapidly eating holes in the deck of their warbird.

Hey, it saved us phaser fire and photon torpedoes. As reward, I beamed the Klingons into the brig and told the mad minions they could blow up whatever they wanted on the Klingon ship.

Guess who was everyone's favourite Winchester for a week?

* * *

><p><em><span>On Enemy Boarders<span>_

Alpha shift is not what you would call physically intimidating. They have funky hair, weird jewellery and they're always walking the line between regulation and reprimand when it comes to dress. They're all string beans, most of them barely meeting Starfleet fitness levels. None of them know hand-to-hand worth shit and they all whine like pansies when I put them through mandatory self-defence.

But they're at least as scary as Jo's first line security team if only because you'd never catch the buggers once they're pissed and they've very…creative with their application of the most mundane materials.

Who knew a liberal application of dish soap and foam packing peanuts could reduce battle-hardened Romulans to tears?

* * *

><p><em><span>On Fire<span>_

The only thing alpha shift won't mess with while onboard the _Impala_ is fire.

Thank God.

Despite what you may think fire is still deadly on star ships. It eats oxygen at an alarming rate and there is a surprisingly large amount of flammable material on the ship, despite the fire suppressant systems and overabundance of metal.

Alpha shift might be crazy, but they're not idiots and they love the _Impala_ as much as any other crew member.

Off ship, however…

They are no longer allowed to introduce themselves as Gods of Fire. Their stint as gods was cut disturbingly short after they revealed they could to a man (or woman) breathe fire using the age-old carnival trick, which made them not gods but monsters. Monsters must be executed before they decided to eat the children.

Jo had to go in and extract them. She was unimpressed until they started leaving enormous chocolate bars everywhere for her to find.

* * *

><p><em><span>On Replicators<span>_

Alpha shift can be bribed to produce just about anything from the replicators, including things that are not in the admittedly vast replicator repertoire. For example: useless life-sized Elvis dummies, thirty foot birch-bark canoes and really bad Tim Horton's coffee (admittedly, the Canadian coffee chain has survived to this day and that's a feat, but once you drink the stuff, you have to break the inexplicable addiction and it's a bitch).

I told them I didn't care what they make as long as none of it comes to life.

I'm still waiting for alpha shift to take me up on that challenge.

* * *

><p><em><span>On Castiel<span>_

They thought he'd make a good minion-in-training and began hazing him.

Castiel proved that if they pissed him off, he could out-prank even alpha shift.

Castiel is no longer a target of alpha shift. Ever.

* * *

><p><em><span>On Ash<span>_

Ash and alpha shift have this weird love-hate relationship going on. Ash is usually too laid-back and lazy to do anything other than bitch about alpha shift's shenanigans and nothing winds him up or pisses him off, which in turn pisses off the attention hogs (aka alpha shift).

But when he's correctly motivated, he comes up with the most bat-shit genius plans I have ever seen.

And that's saying something considering the company I keep.

The stuffy, annoying, bigoted diplomats from the Theta 24-C mission still have a severe phobia of cute yellow rubber duckies.

Ash and alpha shift regard that particular experience as one of their greatest successes.

* * *

><p><em><span>On Bobby<span>_

Alpha shift doesn't fuck with Bobby.

Ever.

They've never tried.

They're crazy, not suicidal.

* * *

><p><em><span>On Captain Kirk<span>_

Alpha shift regards Jim Kirk as a secondary god.

He borrowed them for three days and they came back totally out of control, burbling ecstatically about blowing up evil solar systems and turning black holes into weapons of mass destruction.

It took Sammy and I two weeks to yank them back into line.

I was not impressed.

* * *

><p><em><span>On Spock<span>_

Spock terrifies alpha shift.

I approve.

When Sam was over on the _Potemkin_, alpha shift screwed up Sam's sub-space experiment in their usual haphazard (although admittedly well-meaning) way.

An unimpressed Spock put the fear of an exacting Vulcan scientist into them and for two glorious days, alpha shift toed the line so hard it squeaked. They also put the sub-space experiment back on track in record time.

Then Sam came back, Spock stopped contacting alpha shift directly and I now keep the Vulcan in my back pocket as a last result threat.

* * *

><p><em><span>On Planet-side Scientists<span>_

Alpha shift disdains most scientists who spend their time planet-side, especially after the stuffed shirts back on Earth claimed alpha shift wasn't capable of putting together a comprehensible paper with positive contributions to humanity.

Despite Starfleet regulations, I couldn't keep Sam from laughing his ass off in front of the Academy Science dean. Even though we were on the bridge, Sam was gasping for breath in seconds.

Then the dean insulted Sam.

Word trickled back to alpha shift (I suspect Castiel, personally) and that intrepid group decided take it personally.

It took all twelve of them a week to develop an algorithm capable of adapting to the notoriously unpredictable, virulent and annoying common cold, which despite massive leaps in science and technology, no scientist or doctor had managed to crack. Then they wrote up a nice neat paper, had Sam vet it and published it.

Sam and alpha shift got a Nobel Peace Prize.

They were insufferable for a month until Bones from _Enterprise_ quietly published a paper proving he'd developed both a cure and treatment for AIDS.

* * *

><p><em><span>On Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy<span>_

Alpha shift regards Bones as their rival after the AIDS fiasco. A very confused Bones did not understand why the entire alpha shift showed up in the _Impala_'s infirmary to issue challenge when he arrived to discuss dermal regenerator techniques with Ellen.

When he did finally understand, he snorted and ignored them completely.

Alpha shift thinks this cool attitude is very…cool.

* * *

><p><em><span>On Captain Dean Winchester<span>_

We, the alpha shift, have hijacked Captain Winchester's PADD for this entry, seeing as he was going to leave this interesting little (and highly accurate, we must admit, kudos to the captain for a fair representation) paper incomplete.

Which would be a shame.

You see, we are aware that we are possibly (probably) clinically insane.

The captain doesn't really love science like we do (engineering is another story) and yes, we put the captain through the wringer.

But the captain can take it because he's tough, badass and because he's Dean Winchester.

We might be Commander Winchester's alpha-minions and we'd do anything for him, but we're Captain Winchester's crew and our bottom line is this: fuck with Dean Winchester and you fuck with us.

Do so at your peril: we're scary and we know it.

Peace out.

* * *

><p><em>P.S. Sir, if anyone asks, we had absolutely <em>nothing_ to do with the African elephant running around in the hold. Honestly. _

_P.P.S. The replicators really can produce stuff that's alive. You just have to introduce a cloning component! Interesting, isn't it? :)_


	12. Girls'n'Guns

I do not own Star Trek 2009, Supernatural, NCIS or NCIS: LA.

* * *

><p>The girls of Starfleet tend to stick together.<p>

The girls of the crazy ships stick together even tighter, banding in shared camaraderie.

So when they got the chance to hit the famed crystal markets of Mesmerize, they ditched the boys almost immediately, promising each other that they'd meet up in the main square for a shopping extravaganza.

Commander Abby Scuito was anxiously tapping her foot. "They're late," she complained cheerfully. Obligingly, Lieutenant Commander Ziva David checked her chrono.

"They will be late in exactly thirty seven seconds Abby," she replied without concern, serene and calm.

"Yes, but if you wait too long all the pretty sparklies get picked over and then we have to kick and claw for everything we want!" The excitable engineer bounced around in her goth-themed civvies, bracelets jangling merrily.

"Exactly!" a breathless voice from behind Abby chimed in. Lieutenant Commander Uhura stumbled to a halt, having dragged Nurse Christine Chapel and a dishevelled Amanda MacKenzie along rather against their will.

Christine, a pretty Southern blonde with big china-blue eyes, shrugged. "I can't wear jewellery on duty and I don't really date so I don't know why I'm here. But today does sound like fun."

Amanda yawned expansively. "Bartender. Only bartender on the ship. I've had exactly three hours of sleep. Get me coffee or there may be a homicide committed soon."

Abby stared reprovingly. "That is not the point. Girls like sparkles. Girls like shopping. It's the way of the world. I heard about Amanda's coffee problem, here's a Gibbs special. Hope you like it black. Now, where's Nell, Kensi and Jo?"

"Here!" two voices chimed together. "We got lost," Lieutenant Nell Jones panted, petite and rather harassed looking. "Kensi and Jo got me confused on purpose." Commander Kensi Blye and Commander Jo Harvelle seemed unconcerned, both grinning breezily.

"Excellent. Let's go. And everyone, leave the Starfleet here!" Abby decreed. "Today, we're just girls!"

* * *

><p>They happily combed through stall after stall of pretty trinkets, the open air market humming with the sounds of life. Abby was soon bedecking a still mostly asleep Amanda (Abby had been very surprised when Amanda decreed Gibb's coffee quite good) with black and blue necklaces as Jo lazily pushed Nell to try something a little more adventurous while Kensi bickered with Ziva over who had first dibs on a red and purple bracelet.<p>

"Your mom didn't want to come?" Nell asked.

"Nope. Something about conferencing with both Hetty and Bones. They'll talk about the most disgusting things over lunch so when Mom invited me to come I said thank you ever so much but hell no." Jo pointed. "Try that big buttercup-looking thing."

Ziva leaned over Christine's shoulder, spotting a long crystal hairpin. "Ooh, that is pretty! How much?" The shopkeeper named an exorbitant price and Ziva snorted indelicately through her nose, Israeli haggling blood coming to the forefront. "That is ridiculous!"

To the group's amazement, Ziva was able to bargain the shopkeeper all the way down to 40% of what he originally quoted. Tucking her long, loose dark hair up into the pretty green pin, she sauntered away with supreme satisfaction as the shopkeeper watched her leave with respect and Abby stared worshipfully. "Teach me your ways, great master!"

Ziva grinned wickedly. "First, you must be loud."

* * *

><p>By the time the sun was up and the market in full swing, the girls had mostly made all their purchases, made several killer bargains (vivacious but focused Nell and deceptively quiet Christine were Ziva's best protégés – Abby was too easily distracted) and were really only window-shopping and gossiping. The two security officers were walking at the back of the group, just keeping an eye out when something caught Jo's eye.<p>

Flicking her eyes to the side, Jo indicated which way she wanted Ziva to look.

They were being tailed. Ziva let out an almost imperceptible groan. Jo agreed fully. They did not need this idiocy today. Carefully nudging their bags into Christine's hands, they dropped back further. Kensi noticed too, dropping back and nonchalantly rolling her shoulders to loosen joints should they get into a fight.

Thieves, looking to circle the decently large group. They were probably walking into a trap.

By now, Uhura, Abby and Nell had caught on, warily checking the tails with decent skill. Uhura effortlessly took lead, pulling the group into a small, bright café. Pushing up to the counter, she and Abby started ordering everyone drinks while Ziva and Jo seated everyone at the most defensible table, parking a very nervous Christine in the back corner.

"I assume you left your comm behind as well?" Ziva asked.

Jo snorted. "Abby wouldn't let me bring it. Something about an emergency beam out if they really needed us."

"Right." They glanced at Kensi, who shrugged helplessly, in the same boat. No one wanted to deny Abby her fun time and the only person who could tell the perky engineer 'no' was a certain silver-haired captain.

The café was actually a rather nice spot, with good chocolate croissants. The atmosphere was still good and they almost got through their coffees and such, hoping that the gang moved on to easier pickings. But then the first punk walked through the door and in retaliation, Abby capably pulled out a huge, reliable old phaser from the stone ages, setting it on the table with a telling, weighty clank.

"Do you know how to use that?" Uhura asked, wide-eyed.

"Sure. Gibbs taught me. I'm a dead shot. And this thing can punch a hole in the wall if I want it to. Everyone, meet Ol' Bess."

Jo laughed aloud as Nell fished out a sleek, compact phaser from her handbag, Uhura produced one from somewhere under her very formfitting shirt-dress and Amanda yanked out a serviceable Starfleet issue. Christine brandished a rather fearsome looking stun-gun. Kensi and Ziva cracked their knuckles and Jo's knives made an appearance as the panicked café workers disappeared into the back.

"Oh boys," Ziva called in a sultry voice. "We're over here."

The gang spilled into the café and grinned nastily at the sight of the Starfleet girls, cat-calling and brandishing butterfly knives.

Abby blew a gaping crater in the café floor at their feet.

* * *

><p>Suffice to say, it was a short altercation. When the gang tried to run, they found themselves on the wrong end of several phasers set to stun.<p>

The Starfleet security officers of the group didn't have to lift a finger and Kensi looked a little disappointed that they didn't get to brawl.

When the planet's security team arrived to take their statements, they were surprised to find Nell, Jo and Abby gleefully terrorizing their captives, who were tied up with zip ties from Kensi's bag.

"I get why Ziva or I would carry zip ties," Jo drawled. "But you?"

Kensi admired her new ring. "You've met Deeks. He's my away team partner and he's lazy as hell. I just got in the habit of carrying anything he's likely to forget." She smirked. "He thinks I'm magic. It's a marvellous feeling."

"Ma'am, we'd like to take your statements and then Victim Services will be by to assist you with your traumatic experiences. A counsellor will be provided for all of you," a very young, very new security officer told Christine, the most approachable woman of the bunch.

That was when all the girls started laughing, passed over their signed statements and walked off into the sunset, chattering away.

"We are _so_ badass," Abby chirped happily, Ol' Bess hanging carelessly over one shoulder. "Wait until I tell Gibbs!"

Jo slung an arm around the taller girl's shoulders with a laugh. "Damn straight."


	13. Replicable Equals Dispensable?

__I do not own Star Trek 2009 or Supernatural.

* * *

><p><em>Impala – Alpha Shift<em>

"Oh, we are in so much shit, shit, shit."

"Shut up, that's not helping!"

"What do we do, what do we do, what do we do?"

"Stop panicking!"

"I know, the thing."

"What thing? _That_ thing?"

"Yeah, that one."

There was a pause in the mass hysteria taking place down on alpha shift's deck while everyone stared at the gum-snapping Shari of alpha shift, who had made the suggestion that just might save their careers or deep-six alpha shift so far down that even Commander Winchester couldn't salvage them.

"It's still glitchy."

"Got anything better?" Shari demanded, running a frazzled hand through spiky bubble-gum pink hair. There was an awkward pause in which everyone glanced at each other.

"Nooo," Jen admitted reluctantly, shuffling punk boots and plucking at her tattered lab coat. Explaining to the Admiralty that they'd chosen to test out their latest sleeping gas on rec room 2 but somehow the dispersal system had accidentally been rerouted via the ventilation system from said rec room to the bridge and thereby gassing the entire senior bridge crew would be a very sticky situation.

The situation would only get worse when Captain Winchester woke up, realized he'd missed a very important requisition meeting and gotten the dressing down of a lifetime by several admirals who were just looking to get rid of him.

"Hori, make yourself useful and make sure it's charged up. Jen, handle the transport and get that voice changer up and running. Set it to Commander Winchester's voice and make a report saying something about crappy video, so we've only got audio. Starfleet's already aware that our sensor array's been a little finicky ever since Commander Winchester maxed out its range, they might just buy the same excuse." Shari snapped orders out in her best Commander Sam imitation. "I'll handle the computer programming. That thing has to act and sound _exactly_ like Captain Winchester."

All the energy that had gone into panicking was suddenly thrown into productive energy. After all, if they could pull this off, they'd have bragging rights over engineering for years to come.

* * *

><p><em>Starfleet Command<em>

Captain Dean Winchester strolled into the requisition meeting with his trademark attitude and cocky smile. Nodding to several captains and saying hello, he sat down with a thump in the assigned chair, leaning back to presumably look about for his partner in crime Jim Kirk.

Said captain plunked down beside his buddy after Dean waved him over.

It took an astute Kirk exactly five seconds to realize he was sitting beside a robot. "What the hell did your clever idiots do now?" he demanded in a low voice, carefully keeping their cover.

* * *

><p><em>Alpha shift froze in their little command booth deep in the bowels of their science deck. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," Hori started panicking again. <em>

"_Shut _up_," Shari, Jen and Mike ordered as everyone else glared at him. "The program has a reply. Captain Kirk's cool, we'll be fine as long as nobody freaks out. I hope," Shari finished under her breath._

* * *

><p>"Nothing, we just had a small, uh, glitch with the ventilation system and a new sleeping gas. Sam and crew will be fine in an hour or so," Robot-Dean replied. Kirk leaned back in his chair with a measuring stare.<p>

"Really."

"Really."

"So I imagine Sam forgot to give you the requisition list handed out only to captains and first officers. The one that's mandatory for this meeting."

* * *

><p>"<em>Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," Shari chanted. "Everyone can panic now."<em>

* * *

><p>"Spock, Sam's not feeling so hot. Alpha shift did something retarded again and not only did they put Sam out, they put the <em>Impala<em>'s printers on the fritz. Think you could find the _Impala_'s requisition list?" Kirk asked after hailing his first officer.

It took Spock even less time to identify the robot. "I shall have it for you before the meeting begins, _Captain_ Winchester."

* * *

><p>"<em>We owe Spock now. He'll demand our <em>souls_. He'll make us wear white lab coats and fill out paperwork and follow procedures and, and, and," Mike's head was jammed between his knees by a firm hand on his head._

"_Focus, you moron! Breathe! We can suffer all of that for the _Impala_. Our cover hasn't been blown yet and they're definitely on our side. We just have to pray Admiral Pike doesn't show." Hori was surprisingly calm now that he knew Spock wasn't going to sell them out. "Let's just get through the meeting in one piece and then pray for mercy from the captain."  
><em>

* * *

><p>After that, the meeting went swimmingly and Kirk had high hopes of getting through it without losing the entirety of alpha shift to the crime of impersonating a superior officer. He was pretty sure that they didn't actually know the penalty for such a crime and really, they had the best intentions. It wasn't as if alpha shift ever meant for any of their experiments to go haywire.<p>

But then, oh then, Admiral Vance asked if anyone needed extra explosives added to their scientific departments for the purposes of geological surveying and Kirk saw the robot impersonating his friend grind to a complete and total halt.

Clearly, alpha shift had just spotted a great, big, giant juicy opportunity.

* * *

><p>"<em>We shouldn't."<em>

"_But imagine…"_

"_We shouldn't. Think of the trouble we'd be in. Think of the trouble we're already in."_

"_Come on Hori, don't be a stick in the mud!" Shari's eyes were gleaming with ideas. _

"_No. No. No. We're almost in the clear."_

* * *

><p>"We've got a mission coming up to Delta 43-C that could use a little extra bang," Robot-Dean raised a hand and Kirk had to suppress a groan as Spock glared daggers at the robot, knowing full well that the cameras in the irises couldn't avoid his ire. Admiral Vance frowned, glancing down at his notes and then along the big table lined with captains and first officers. "Where's Commander Winchester? He always handles the paperwork and is excellent about putting in these requests ahead of time."<p>

Robot-Dean shifted in his seat a little. "Unfortunately we had a little incident on the science deck this morning and Commander Winchester's still cleaning up the aftermath. I just thought if you're offering the explosives, we can make use of them."

* * *

><p>"<em>What the <em>hell_ are you doing?"_

_Alpha shift froze._

_Captain Winchester was awake._

* * *

><p>"What the <em>hell<em> are you doing-doing-doing?" Captain Winchester's voice in oddly distorted stereo with a strange repetition almost like a computer glitch echoing around the room ground the meeting to a halt.

* * *

><p><em>Shari slammed a fist down on the mute button, praying the robot wouldn't suddenly break out into full body convulsions like it had in the field tests. She then smiled up at a very, very grumpy captain. "Um, hey Captain Winchester. How's the headache?"<em>

* * *

><p>Kirk gulped and promptly nodded to Spock, who discreetly pretended to bend over the twitchy captain-robot and managed to yank out a few wires, sending the robot into a lifeless slump. "Ah, looks like that experiment mess up on the <em>Impala <em>got to Dean too," Kirk explained hastily. "Spock and I will take him up to see Dr. Harvelle. I'm sure if the explosives are really necessary, Commander Winchester will contact you in a timely fashion."

And then he and Spock dragged the heavy robot out of there like it was on fire.

* * *

><p><em>Impala<em>

"Dude, I owe you," Dean said with a sigh as Ellen administered a hypo of aspirin and Jim leaned up against a free bio-bed, grinning like a loon.

"Alpha shift accidentally drugged the bridge and then in their usual mad-scientist way instead of seeing if Ellen could do anything about it, put a robot with your face into the requisition meeting and then tried to make off with explosives that would have split a moon. If the Admiralty gets suspicious, you are _so_ screwed. We're all screwed."

"Shut up."

"Is that any way to talk to your saviour? How's alpha shift?"

Dean grinned. "Grovelling. Sam's got the mother of all headaches and he's grumpier than a hungry grizzly bear. That and Spock wanted the schematics for the quasi-android they built. Both science officers are storming about as alpha shift literally hides under the tables. Last I checked Shari had crawled into a ventilation hood with a toothbrush and soap on pretences of cleaning it properly. Sam's confiscated all their lab coats, run them through the replicators and enlisted a very irritable Cas to make sure they wear the new white ones properly to boot."

Jim threw back his head and laughed. "Well, don't be too hard on them. They did try."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah and I don't know what could have been worse – Admiralty finding out they gassed us or that a robot made it all the way into a captain's meeting without anyone noticing."

That was a sobering thought. "Party-pooper," Jim replied, but in a thoughtful manner. "I'll put Spock on it."

Dean smirked. "And I'll tell alpha shift."

"What, so they can help?"

"Hell no. So they can eat their hearts out with jealousy."


	14. Dr McCoy in the Infirmary with the Hypo

I do not own Supernatural or Star Trek 2009. Or Clue. I just borrowed the phrase from the board game.

This little short story might make more sense if you read _Fathers, Friends and Faith_ first but all you really need to know is that after a series of events, Spock locked Bones in the infirmary (Spock is a brave, brave soul).

This is the fallout.

If there's canon regarding the characters who appear in this story, I apologize: I haven't seen it in the movie(s) or TOS for that matter and couldn't find examples of it on the internet.

* * *

><p>For some reason, the captain was in an exceptionally good mood this morning, Sulu noticed. Not that Captain Kirk was ever what you would call depressed but this was ridiculous.<p>

"Did you notice?" he asked Chekov, who was keeping his head down at the nav console.

"Notice vhat?" Chekov replied shiftily. "I see nothing, saw nothing, there vas nothing to see!"

Sulu was now rather confused and a little afraid. The last time Chekov had acted like this, the captain had thought it would be a good idea to blackmail the Russian into rigging the communications on Starbase 4 to sound like Donald Duck, no matter who spoke into the microphone.

Once he had spoke into the rigged microphone to a very important diplomat, Admiral Cartwright had not been impressed.

So Sulu sat down cautiously, surveying the bridge like it was a ticking minefield. Everyone was very quiet and very nervous. The captain was grinning like a Cheshire cat. Naturally, Spock was his usual stoic self.

Sulu blinked. Where was Bones? Dr. McCoy liked to be on the bridge for the first debrief of the day, especially when they were leaving spacedock. Bones usually stood just behind Sulu's shoulder to bitch about how one of these days the idiots flying around the _Enterprise_ would crash into her and explode the whole base into a hundred million pieces and the_ Enterprise_ would only survive because Sulu was a damn good pilot but then Starfleet would blame them and they'd all be marooned to ore freight runs in which case they'd all perish of lung-rot from inhaled ore dust, choking on their own bodily fluids until they drowned in space.

It was always the exact same rant and yes, those were the doctor's exact words (and sentence structure).

But today there was no rant.

It was kind of nice, if a little disconcerting.

"Spock, did you fix the infirmary door mechanism?" Kirk asked a few minutes after they jumped to warp.

And that was when Sulu knew they were all doomed.

"I logged the error with Engineering, captain. Mr. Scott promised to see to it as soon as we were under way."

"Did you mention that Bones was still in the infirmary?"

Sulu and Uhura tensed while Chekov cowered at the thought.

"I believe I…forgot."

_Bullshit_ ran through the heads of every individual on the bridge. Spock? Forget?

No, this was Spock screwing with the CMO and he had just taken his life into his hands.

_"Mr. Spock?"_ a wary Scottish voice asked over the comm.

"Yes Mr. Scott."

_"Why did ye nae tell me Dr. McCoy was locked in the infirmary over night?"_

"I…forgot."

There was silence over the comm.

_"Capt'n, are ye sure that's Mr. Spock and not a doppelganger of sorts?"_

Kirk was grinning like a loon. "Pretty sure, Scotty."

_"Aye then, capt'n."_ There was a definite note of doubt in the engineer's voice but he carried on.

The lift doors whooshed open.

* * *

><p>"UNCLE JIM!"<p>

The impending apocalypse withered up and died a very quick death in the face of a beaming Joanna McCoy, dark pigtails bouncing as she threw herself into Kirk's lap.

The entire bridge crew froze.

"Jo-jo?" Kirk managed to sputter and glanced at a scowling McCoy.

"I ran away," she announced cheerfully, "an' stowed away on the _Enterprise!_ And then the doors wouldn't open and Daddy and I had a sleepover and candy and it was so much fun! Can I be cabin girl?"

Kirk managed to rally his scattered thoughts, kicking his brain back into gear. "Jo-jo, sweetheart, why did you stow away?"

The nine year old pouted mightily, shaking her head and Bones shrugged when Kirk sent him a questioning glance. Jo-jo wasn't talking. "Sulu, park _Enterprise_ and Uhura, don't notify Starfleet Command just yet. Jo-jo and I are gonna go hang out for a bit and Bones, try not to kill Spock." Joanna giggled at the murderous glare her father was sending the stone-faced Vulcan.

Accordingly, the _Enterprise_ hung silent in space as Joanna flopped back on the big squishy square blue cushion in the quiet rec-room, staring up at the stars. Kirk joined her after Jo-jo waved hello to Amanda.

"So. Cabin girl, huh? You don't wanna be pilot or captain?"

"Silly, those jobs belong to Uncle Sulu and you!"

"All right kiddo. Hey, how did you get on the ship?"

Joanna looked very pleased with herself. "Uncle Scotty showed me how to use the transporter when I last visited and I remembered how! It was easy to take a cab from our hotel while Mom was _busy. _Then I got a shuttle up to the ship yard and snuck into the cargo bay. Uncle Dean showed me how to get from the cargo bay to the infirm'ary using the vent-shafts. Then I just had to wait to surprise Daddy when noooobody was looking."

"Well, geez, guess I'll have to review _Enterprise_ security protocols. You remembered the transporter password? And how to get from cargo to the infirmary? I'm impressed," Kirk complimented sincerely and Joanna bounced on the cushion in satisfaction. "She was busy, huh?" Kirk mused.

"Busy." Joanna said in a definitive tone of voice.

"Huh."

"I left a note!"

"Didja now."

"Yeah. That's all she needed. She was busy. She's always busy and she doesn't let me talk to Daddy! She doesn't like me anymore." The last sentence was full of a lost little girl's sobs.

"And you didn't tell your dad?"

Joanna sniffled and squared her little shoulders, putting on an adorably adult face. "Dad's important busy," she said firmly. "He saves people every day and I thought if I was cabin girl I'd have a job and be able to see Dad without being a bother."

"Hmm," Kirk replied absently.

"You won't make me go back, right?"

"Weeeell," Kirk drawled, not entirely sure what to do himself, "why don't we call your mom first and see what she has to say so she knows you weren't kidnapped by space pirates and forced to sign the note."

Joanna's eyes widened. "Like in the movies?"

"Yeah, like in the movies." Kirk congratulated himself for this inspired bit. "We'll use the captain's ready room so she knows it's official business."

"I'm official business?"

"Absolutely. Very official, important business."

So they dialled up Earth and managed to connect to a very excited, angry Jocelyn McCoy, her eyes bloodshot, lines appearing around her pretty mouth, fine straw-golden hair falling out of its classy up-do. The Starfleet officer escorting her looked harassed and very glad to find the missing child if only to get rid of the high-octane woman.

Jocelyn proceeded to give her daughter the dressing down of the century without any of the usual undertones of concern most so-scared-they-were-angry moms used. Little Jo-jo wilted and tried not to let her lip wobble as Kirk frowned. He may not have had much experience with mothers but this didn't quite seem right, you know? No "Are you okay," no "where were you," just a "You shouldn't have run away to your worthless father" in tones one usually reserved for a beat down, not a little girl who ran away to her father for a night.

Finally, Jocelyn reached the end of her rant and Joanna straightened up. Kirk got the feeling an irreparable chasm had just opened between mother and daughter.

"Mama, I'm not coming back," Joanna asserted militantly.

"Captain Kirk, you turn that ship around right now and bring my daughter back to Earth this instant!" Jocelyn's voice reached strident tones and Kirk was kind of hoping she'd be a little more chill about this whole thing because really, what kid doesn't run away from home? Granted, most don't hop a star ship destined for the outer reaches of civilization but hey, Kirk had driven an antique car off a cliff so he figured who was he to judge?

In the meantime, Joanna stared up at her favourite uncle with pleading eyes and Kirk settled back in his chair, not prepared to commit to anything at this point (and pretty sure he was siding with the munchkin).

"And for that matter, where's Leonard? How dare he perpetuate this sort of behaviour!" The shrill voice was giving Kirk a headache as Joanna's eyes filled with tears and spilled over.

"Mama, Daddy didn't do it, he didn't tell me to, I came all on my own!"

"The hell you did!"

Joanna flinched as if she had been slapped and Kirk hit the hold button, pulling up the standard Starfleet logo. Whoa, had _not_ expected that. "Hey kiddo, you know what? I think we're going to go back to the bridge, see if Sulu lets you fly the _Enterprise_, huh? Make sure Sulu doesn't us through an asteroid. I gotta talk to your dad."

* * *

><p>Sure enough, Sulu let Jo-jo fly the <em>Enterprise <em>in great big circles and dips as Chekov chattered on and on like they were in the most intense battle, giving Joanna all sorts of information and readings. Soon she was giggling hysterically as they fiddled with consoles.

The little knot of people at the back of the bridge were not so happy. "I think we need to call Sam," Kirk said quietly.

"What? Winchester? Why?" Bones demanded.

"Because he's a lawyer," Kirk replied soberly. "Jocelyn was acting weird, man, even for her. And Jo-jo said she was busy all the time. So far she's been a great mom to Joanna, Bones, even if she's been a witch to you. Something's off."

A quick call back to Earth had a concerned Sam on the ready room view screen in no time. "Hey guys, what's up?"

Kirk described the situation succinctly and Sam scowled. "Yeah, that sounds wrong. But you're in a sticky spot, Leonard, I'm not going to lie. You've only got Joanna's word that you didn't tell her to sneak aboard the _Enterprise_. It helps that you stopped the _Enterprise_ as soon as you realized she was on board and contacted the mother through official channels. I assume that exchange was recorded."

Kirk nodded. "And it was a weird-ass conversation, dude. I mean, she never asked if Jo was safe, just lit into her for being on the _Enterprise_. Most kids run away from home at least once, don't they?" He glanced around. Sam shrugged and mouthed 'Dean' silently, Spock was giving Kirk the "why-must-Vulcans-deal-with-idiots" look and Bones shook his head.

"Come on, seriously? You bunch are no fun at all. Anyway, we've got Jocelyn's reluctance to allow Bones his parental rights documented as well as her conversations threatening him with further restrictions and her refusal of his visits. Additionally, doesn't it say something that Joanna managed to get all the way to the ship yard without Jocelyn noticing?"

Sam looked thoughtful. "It does. How long would it have taken Jo-jo to get across town, through the surface docks and then up to the yard in orbit?"

"Approximately 3.36 hours given the hover-car jam present in San Francisco at the time," Spock reported.

"Wait, wait, wait, I'm not sure I want custody!" Bones interrupted and everyone stared at the doctor like he had two heads. "I mean, I'm tied up here and there is no way in hell my daughter is staying on this death trap."

"He's got a point," Kirk admitted and everyone, Bones included, stared at him like he had three heads. "What? I can admit we're prone to hull ruptures, alien invasions and all sorts of danger!"

"Better make sure that was recorded. You'll never hear it again," Sam chuckled. "Anyway, let me do some investigating. Jim, you should let Command know you're putting _Enterprise _on standby. It's not a time-sensitive mission, is it?"

Kirk shook his head.

"All right, leave it to me. I've got two days before we ship out and if I have to, I'll force my idiot brother to help."

Four hours later, Jo-jo was off banging on bongo drums in the rec-room with Uhura when Sam called back. "It's an interesting story," he said briskly, his brain clearly whirring away in its usual reliable manner. "Jocelyn McCoy, former pageant winner and Miss Georgia, has recently been attempting to break back into the beauty queen world as the substantial money she garnered from Bones in the divorce is now running out. Naturally after having Jo-jo, her figure is not what it was. She promised some less than honest plastic surgeons that she would pay them back as soon as she won her first competition. She has yet to fulfill that promise despite having lost four competitions and refuses to get an entry-level job."

"Why'd you marry her again?" Kirk demanded.

Bones shrugged. "I was young and stupid?"

"Ahem." They shut up. "The night Joanna was left in the hotel Jocelyn was off trying to seduce an old flame who currently runs a successful office supply business. It's not glamorous but he's worth millions. She failed and he threw her out. Jocelyn is now flat broke and spiralling out of control." Sam shrugged. "If you like, I can prove in court she was negligent but I gotta be honest with you Bones, the fact that you're the CMO of the flagship doesn't exactly speak for a stable, kid-friendly environment. It's more likely that the courts will just order Jocelyn to get a minimum-wage job and subsist that way." He shifted in his seat. "But from what little I know of Jocelyn…" his voice trailed off.

"She'll take it out on Jo-jo," Bones finished with resignation.

"Hey Bones, if you want to be a trauma surgeon on Earth, I'll totally write you a great reference letter," Kirk offered, hiding his inner rebellion at the idea with a bright smile.

McCoy wasn't buying it. "I'm not stupid, Jim. Don't give me that shit. If I go back to Earth, this ship'll be falling apart in three weeks. Sam, can you take a look at my finances? See if you can't put her on an allowance system. Hell, it's not like I use the money anyway. It just sits in the bank for Joanna's future. May as well go towards keeping her with her mother." Sam, Spock and Kirk looked at the CMO as if he had sprouted a second head. "What?"

"Bones," Sam began hesitantly. "That's not a solution, that's just enabling your ex-wife."

McCoy threw up his hands. "What the hell do you want me to do then?"

Kirk began to speak, hesitated and subsided.

McCoy nailed his captain and friend with a gimlet eye. "Talk, Jim."

"Your mom was saying she didn't see enough of Joanna when you talked on her birthday."

McCoy stared and then blustered. "There's a hell of a difference between missing your grandkid and taking her in as a full time proposition because your son can't sort out his own familial problems!"

"I believe that if little Joanna were to come to emotional or physical harm due to a poor familial situation because you feared to inconvenience your mother, she would be very angry with you," Spock interjected knowledgeably, having met the grand, formidable old lady.

McCoy rolled his eyes but slumped in defeat.

* * *

><p>Mary Ellen McCoy was a spry, sweet little person with silver-streaked brown hair, twinkling blue eyes and a very healthy sense of humour. She had met Jim and Spock and she approved highly of both. She lived in a grand old Southern farmhouse with a kitchen that smelled of cookies and a wide, shadowy wrap-around porch that spoke to long summers of lemonade and relaxation.<p>

It was quite possibly Joanna's second favourite place after her father's infirmary and her grandmother had been only too happy to take in her little granddaughter. Mary Ellen bossed her son's friends as they carried Joanna's suitcases up the stairs into her room and had cookies sitting out on the porch as Jo-jo scampered up the big oak tree in the front yard.

"You did right when you called me, Leo," she said to her son, who still had his brow furrowed in wrinkles. "I was getting lonely and Joanna hasn't looked this bright since you managed to wrangle two weeks to yourselves from that woman." That woman was how Mary Ellen referred to Jocelyn McCoy. The moniker had only grown more pointed when she had heard that her precious granddaughter had hiked all the way across San Francisco and stowed away on a star ship without Joanna's mother noticing. Poor Sam and Dean (who volunteered to tell the irate grandmother in person instead of over a comm) had considered carefully setting down their fine china teacups and running for their lives.

McCoy was startled from his thoughts by a shriek of laughter from Joanna and a roar of laughter from Sam, who had been elected picture-hanger on account of his height. Judging from the ensuing crashes and thumps, an impromptu rumble had ensued.

"I'll look after Joanna. It'll be a pleasure. This way, she's safe, I'm happy and you keep doing what you love. It'll make all of us content," Mary Ellen reiterated. "And if that woman shows up, I'll get a restraining order." She reached into the pretty wooden umbrella stand, pulling out an ancient but clearly well-cared-for 12 gauge double-barrelled shotgun. "If that doesn't discourage her," Mary Ellen cracked the stock open and checked for shells, "this sure as hell will."

"_Ma_!" McCoy squawked.

"My kind of woman," Jim drawled in delight as Dean stuck his head around the corner into the hallway.

"Damn," he whistled.

Mary Ellen snapped the gun shut. "None of that language, Dean. There's a child in the house now." Thus, instead of leaving the gun in the umbrella stand, she stretched up on her toes and slid her weapon into the gun rack over the front door.

"I love her," Dean said worshipfully through a mouthful of cherry scone as he and Kirk duelled over the final cookie. "Can you be my gramma?" he asked seriously and Mary Ellen smiled affectionately, running a gentle hand through his hair.

"Sure thing, sugar. You come home for Thanksgiving, you hear? You and Sam."

Dean frowned. "Well Gramma, we're a big group at Thanksgiving."

Mary Ellen McCoy gave Dean Winchester his first taste of a grandmotherly scowl. "Young man, I used to make Thanksgiving dinner for fifty. You, your bridge crew and your father will be here on that weekend. You and yours too, Jim Kirk."

Well, there really wasn't anything else to say to that, especially when Joanna agreed with her grandmother.

As the sun was setting, Jim regretfully corralled his XO and CMO. _Enterprise_ had to get back on route, already late. Leonard was the last one to leave the house, turning at the white picket fence to wave at his little girl. Joanna had her arms wrapped around her grandmother's waist, and only let go to wave at her dad with one arm. It was a heart-warming picture and one the _Enterprise_'s doctor would carry with him into the strange and often terrifying reaches of space.


	15. Shanghaied!

I do not own Star Trek 2009 or Supernatural.

* * *

><p>Captain Jim Kirk was having a nice quiet morning in space dock above Earth, reading a report from Spock and waiting for his new orders from Starfleet Command.<p>

Then it all went screwy.

A phaser muzzle prodded at his neck and a voice growled fiercely "Stick'em up!"

Obediently, Kirk raised his hands. "What are your demands?" he asked calmly, trying not to let his hands shake.

"You're going to take us to…to…to…where again?" the voice finished in a whisper.

"DW 4," a second voice replied in kind.

"DW 4. At maximum warp!" The phaser pushed at Kirk's neck.

"All right, all right, no need to get hasty. Sulu, start her up and Uhura, contact Starfleet – "

"No Starfleet!" the voice practically shrieked.

"Okay, whatever you want. No Starfleet. You're in charge."

"That's right, I am in charge!" The phaser poked at his neck again and Kirk hoped he wouldn't need a chiropractor after this.

"Clear and ready to navigate sir," Sulu reported as he and Chekov turned slowly away from their consoles with their hands in the air.

"Go, go, go!" the voice demanded.

"You heard the lady Mr. Sulu, take us to DW 4," Kirk replied.

"Aye sir," and with that, the _Enterprise_ slid out of space dock with her captain under duress.

* * *

><p>"Maximum warp, captain."<p>

"Estimated time of arriwal, one hour and tventy two minutes," Chekov finished out the report.

"Goody!" their captor crowed and Kirk heard the 'phaser' hit the deck as the evil mastermind bounced around to park herself in his lap. "Hi Uncle Jim."

"Hi Jo-jo. Taken up piracy, have we?" he asked with amusement. Joanna McCoy was wearing a bright red bandanna over her pigtails, a white pirate's blouse, black pants, a colourful sash, rakish eye patch, big hooped earrings and a pair of thumping good boots.

"That's Captain Jo-jo to you," she scowled. "I can get that phaser again. Or just ask my first mate to make you walk the plank."

"Yes ma'am," Kirk gulped dramatically. "First mate?" he asked in puzzlement.

"AAAARRR mateys!"

Joanna giggled at the mighty roar from behind Kirk. "That's my first mate. He's scary and eats fingers when I tell him to."

Kirk rolled his eyes and let his head thump back against the chair back. "Winchester, what the _hell_ do you think you're doing? For that matter, what are you wearing?"

Dean Winchester gestured flamboyantly, running his fingers through a thick mat of dreadlocks. "I'm the most famous pirate to ever sail the silver screen, of course! Capt'n Jack Sparrow, who only recognizes the awesomeness of Captain Jo-jo, supreme commander of the stars and seas."

"Children," Uhura sighed as Sulu rolled his eyes and Chekov looked surprisingly left out.

"Then, with her supreme commander's permission," Kirk proposed, "I'd like to be his eternal rival Captain Barbossa. Who has a pegleg with rotgut in it," he finished smugly, sneering in a piratical fashion at his friend.

Captain Jo-jo hummed and rubbed her chin. "Weeell," she drawled as Dean shook his head frantically, crossing his arms over his chest in an 'X' symbol, "I suppose the supreme commander's okay with it," she finished with a grin as Dean staggered back, miming a dagger through the heart.

"Awesome. Mr. Spock, you have the conn. Ma'am," he bowed courteously, "if you and the first mate will follow me?"

As Joanna bounced down the corridors to find her father, Kirk noticed more than a few piratical _Impala_ members floating around harassing _Enterprise_ crew into costume. "How the hell did you manage this?" he asked his friend in envious amazement.

"Well, Mary Ellen wanted to go to a pie competition in Atlanta for the weekend but was afraid it'd be boring for Jo-jo. She checked the shore leave roster and came up with me. When she called, I volunteered to take Jo-jo to Disney World but Jo-jo said it wouldn't be any fun without pirates. Pirates aren't pirates if they don't steal a ship." Dean looked very satisfied with himself, especially after Sam and alpha shift went roaring by, Sam wielding a hook with gusto.

"And the admirals?"

Dean grinned that very wide, very terrifying smile. "I put _Impala_ up first for that very sensitive negotiation with the Terrainians. _Enterprise_ was second and the ship the stuffed shirts actually want in the situation was third. When the nervous Admiral Sennchal called wondering why the hell we were trying to give him ulcers, I just…implied that if he wanted us out of the road, we had a very excited little pirate captain who wanted to shanghai the _Enterprise_. For that she needed a crew. Sennchal has grandkids, so he's a soft touch. He agreed in ten seconds flat as long as we're back by Monday morning."

Kirk clapped a companionable hand on Dean's shoulder. "You're a fine, fine figure of a pirate, Captain Sparrow."

* * *

><p>By the time <em>Enterprise<em> arrived at Disney World 4, both senior bridge crews of the _Impala _and _Enterprise_ were fully decked out in pirate garb and had sworn allegiance to the terrifying, awesome Captain Jo-jo. "Go forth and pillage!" she ordered over the comm as a very haggle-toothed Sulu finished docking the big ship.

It was a bit of an incongruous sight, seeing the _Enterprise_ docked amongst all the big cruise liners like a wolf among sheep and a clever Jo-jo realized this as crew members streamed off the ship. "Uncle Jim? Can we?" she asked with a grin copied from her uncles Jim and Dean.

"No," her father said firmly from the corner, interrupting Kirk as he prepared to say "Sure!" Dressed as Captain Teague, it was acceptable for the keeper of the Code to give the supreme commander edicts every now and then. When Jo-jo's face fell, Chekov (wearing a very convincing hologram of a sketchy wooden eyeball in his right socket) crouched down to address his commander.

"Ve do not vant to scare off more sailors," he explained kindly. "If ve take ower the ships, there vill be distress signals, yes? Then de new sailors will run away, taking their gold with them. Better to conquer eweryvone from the ground."

"Yes!" Jo-jo decided and latched onto Chekov's hand. "You can take me to the roller coasters. Now."

* * *

><p>An entire world dedicated to clean children's fun, encompassing every major kid's film from the very first major feature film 'Snow White' up until the latest interactive 3-D film from Pixar VXI, Disney World 4 was a pirate captain's paradise. Jo-jo dragged her uncles all over the first major continent as the ladies wisely chose to set up accommodation first and then follow more sedately in a maniacal Jo-jo's footsteps.<p>

It turned out that Third Mate Sam was the best person to take charge of Captain Jo-jo, since she would willingly sit on his shoulders to command the best view of the world around her.

Of course when a clown pranced up to her, it didn't end well. Jo-jo giggled hysterically as her minion froze underneath her, rolling wild eyes from Dean to the clown and back. "Whatsa'matter, Sammy?" his brother asked with amusement.

"_Dean_," Sam growled and Dean appropriately sighed before shooing off the clown.

"Uncle Sam?" Jo-jo asked her third mate.

"Dean," Sam glared at a snickering brother, "wanted me to stay out of the library one afternoon so he could stay and talk to this pretty girl instead of keeping track of me. So he told me this horrible, awful story about how clowns ate kids who left the carnival early and without parents. Of course I was dead convinced we were going to get eaten anyway since our Dad was out in the middle of nowhere. Then Dean and the girl wandered off and a clown wanted to take me somewhere, probably to roast me. Then when I tried to run away, it wouldn't let me until I bit it. Then I got lost in the carnival for hours." He shuddered.

Jo-jo was sceptical, bending down and around to look into Sam's face. "And you believed Uncle Dean? How old were you again?"

In the face of innocent disbelief, Sam huffed and frowned (pouted). "Six."

Jo-jo's eyebrows rose almost into her bandanna. "You're silly. Even _I_ knew clowns weren't real by four."

Sam sputtered as Dean and Jim howled in laughter and Chekov tried to choke back a snicker. "Well," he began, "I just, I just – "

Jo-jo patted him on the head patronizingly. "It's okay. Everyone has stupid moments."

That of course, set Dean and Jim off again.

* * *

><p>Of course, Sam got his revenge when Jo-jo wanted to go on the antique airplane ride with Dean. "Come on Jim, we have to get corndogs," he ordered, dragging the smaller man away with him. "Uncle Dean <em>loves<em> those rides, don't let anyone else go with you, supreme commander!" Sam called over his shoulder.

Jo-jo turned to a nervous Dean. "I think he's fibbing. But that would be silly because Uncle Dean isn't afraid of anything. Right?"

"I'm afraid of certain death," he admitted in a hurry, looking like he was going to be sick.

"But Uncle Dean, it says right here that all the modern safety regulations are observed. The planes are _very_ safe." Jo-jo propped a fist on one hip. "Don't make me order you, Captain Sparrow."

"Oh, there's no way in hell I'm letting you go alone. When it explodes or falls out of the sky, someone has to be there to sacrifice their life in protection of yours. I come back alive without you and your grandmother will shoot me in the face," he nattered on as they got in line.

Jo-jo sighed. "So?"

"So what?"

"Why do you hate planes?"

"It's not _natural_," Dean insisted.

The nine year old crossed her arms and shot him a very pointed look. "At least Uncle Sam has a back story. You're just being thick."

"The fear's real!" Dean squawked.

"And fear was meant to be conquered. At least that's what Gramma says. Come on. We'll fix this problem right now." And with that, Joanna McCoy dragged one Captain Dean Winchester onto the small stunt biplane for a ten minute ride of loops and spins and barrel rolls.

When it ended, Dean managed to make it to the closest bench before his jelly knees gave out. "Corndog?" Sam asked mischievously.

* * *

><p>Jo-jo was very impressed to find out that Sulu could make the Japanese 'samurai' working the country of Japan look like popsicle stick wielding impersonators, especially after he waded into battle on his commander's orders.<p>

To top it off, Uhura helped her navigate the piratical dictionary and together they broke the five year record held by some stuffy scholar who really shouldn't have tried to crush the dreams of kids in the first place. Two names were left on the record to baffle said scholar when he came back to check – Captain Jo-jo and her wench Uhura.

Chekov and Castiel demonstrated that wooden eyeballs and steady pilots' hands can team up to win any carnival prize the supreme commander desires. After ten or so such booths, Jim and Dean were weighed down by big fluffy stuffed animals, rubber cutlasses and little squeaky frogs that tried to jump away constantly.

Bo'sun Bobby (engineers for boats, as he explained to Joanna) and Ash deemed themselves substitutes for when everyone else got tired and sat in the adult's island, waiting. As they expected, the inner child of the crews meant that all Ash and Bobby had to do was sit around and drink good beer.

They thought it was a decent trade off.

Big Jo thought they were being pokey old grown ups and put a bug in the supreme commander's ear. The two Jos then conspired to take the reluctant Bobby and Ash on the Silly String ride.

The girls had fun.

Bobby and Ash were covered in goo.

Jim took pictures and immediately created copies.

* * *

><p>By the time Sunday night rolled around, everyone was exhausted, including the supreme commander. She was sleeping soundly on her dad's back as Bones carried her up to the transporter pad.<p>

"Thanks everyone," he said gruffly. "You didn't have to do that, spend an entire weekend with my daughter."

There was a chorus of protest – it had been fun. Jo-jo was a good kid, they needed reminding that not everything was about life, death and aliens trying to take over the _Enterprise_/kidnap Captain Winchester/eliminate life on a planet/remove someone's free will and use their bodies to dominate the galaxy.

To Jo-jo's unending dismay, when the clock struck six, the spell was broken and the title of supreme commander fell away (Uncle Jim explained that the clock should strike twelve to make it official but pirates were awful at telling time, so six was close enough to twelve in the grand scheme of things). She found herself showered, in pajamas and tucked in bed by eight o'clock.

As consolation, Chekov, Ash and Castiel promised to resurrect Captain Jo-jo for her ride to school. They'd take a shuttle and everything.

She still wasn't exactly satisfied until she saw her shuttle and practically bounced on the spot in glee. The boys had been busy. The shuttle was painted up like a pirate ship and temporarily renamed "The Joanna."

The ride to school became even more fun when a very bewildered police officer hailed the shuttle and asked to speak to the pilot.

Naturally, he got the supreme commander of the seven seas and universe at large, the terrifying and fearsome Captain Jo-jo.

* * *

><p>Up on the <em>Impala<em> running through pre-departure routines, Sam sighed in exasperation as he got a message from the Georgia State Police asking about a strangely painted shuttle and a supreme pirate commander claiming to know Third Mate Sam of the USS _Impala._


	16. Semper Paratus

I do not own Star Trek 2009 or Supernatural

* * *

><p>The <em>Enterprise<em> has an official motto assigned by Starfleet. It's a very motto-ish motto, official and all that jazz. Apparently Admiral Pike had the privilege of picking it out, back when he was Captain Pike and was in line to command the new flagship.

The _Enterprise_'s motto is _semper paratus. _When translated to English, it becomes _always at the ready._

Captain Jim Kirk quite likes it. He explains it to anyone who asks and manages to never use the same explanation twice.

* * *

><p>Of course, the diplomat trying to make polite conversation over the dinner table was a bit confused and taken aback when Captain Kirk said that their motto translated to "Shit happens. Be ready or be dead."<p>

The diplomat had been further baffled by Captain Kirk's wide smirk as he glanced at the tricorders worn by his crew members because the natives of this particular planet had refused to allow any weapons to a peaceful meeting and tricorders were not weapons.

But then the natives had tried to double cross the Starfleet crew and honestly, Spock and Kirk alone could have built a photon bomb out of a tricorder but when you threw Chekov and an illegal hacking device into the mix, they didn't need the bomb at all.

Turns out Chekov, Spock and that illegal hacking device can reroute the security systems of an entire government, tie it into the entertainment system and then send the entire planet to the feet of Starfleet pleading for mercy after twenty-four hours of bombardment by some archaic show that purportedly scarred Chekov as a child.

Something called Teletubbies?

* * *

><p>Then there was the other captain with his own snooty motto, this long fancy Greek spiel that translated to something like excellence and snobbery and uselessness. The same captain threw a snit fit when he found out that Sulu carried a katana on away missions. He claimed that katanas were irrelevant and worse than useless when compared to a standard-issue phaser. Starfleet should always follow regulations and as such, Sulu shouldn't be even allowed on this mission, seeing as he was neither an engineer or security.<p>

Kirk sneered at the jackass and pointedly quoted the _Enterprise_ motto, making it sound short, important and relevant.

Then as usual, the away mission got…complicated and the phasers were ineffective. The only person who managed to make a dent in the bad guys was the Japanese-American pilot and botanist.

Sulu effortlessly sliced and diced the attacking tree-men into celery sticks as the rest of his team cheered from the sidelines.

Kirk was highly amused by the mild complaint Sulu filed after the mission was complete. Apparently he was feeling abused and shouldn't Captain Kirk consider issuing machetes to away teams? If not, then Sulu was going to petition for a raise.

When Dr. McCoy got wind of a rather disturbing rumour regarding the captain running around the ship with an armful of machetes, he tracked down the instigator and reminded the entire ship that the CMO was not to be trifled with. By the time Bones was through with him, Sulu was almost ready to voluntarily give up his own katana and pitch the machetes into the warp cores.

Machetes were subsequently added to the list of pointy objects only Spock or Bones could assign to the regular-duty rosters.

* * *

><p>Kirk was less impressed when he was hauled up in front of an Admirals' board to explain why Commander Scott, chief engineer of the <em>Enterprise<em> felt it necessary to bring a portable still with him onto a space station. Scotty had been assigned to figure out what exactly went wrong with the hydraulics system. While he was sorting through the space station, _Enterprise_ had gone off on a routine inspection of minor planets in the area.

When Kirk came back, the entire space station was completely plastered on strong Scottish hooch. Sure, as Scotty pointed out, the hydraulics system worked like a dream and the generators had been upgraded but the hangovers were vicious and the station useless for at least twenty four hours.

A still-slightly-hung over Montgomery Scott sneered at the admirals looking to roast his ass (again) but quailed under his captain's judicious eye. "_Semper paratus_?" he offered up weakly.

"I beg your pardon?" Kirk's voice was frigid, matching the admirals' expressions behind their important desks.

Bull-shitting like no tomorrow, Scotty proceeded to explain that an_ Enterprise_ engineer was always prepared to do his job to the very letter of the law. The space station was poorly equipped and as per Starfleet regulations, either alcohol or the new-fangled synthenol were supposed to be available to all off-duty Starfleet personnel. Therefore, when he noticed this grievous oversight, Commander Scott took it upon himself to assist the poor souls stranded on said dry space station. Everyone knew that cabin fever was a dangerous thing in space and booze was a great stress-reliever. The admirals didn't want an _entire_ space station filing a person rights complaint, now did they?

Picking up on that train of thought Captain Kirk managed to haul his poor engineer out of that frying pan only to toss him into the fire. Once Mr. Scott had survived a severe tongue lashing courtesy of Admiral Cartwright, he had to face the music from his captain to boot. "You didn't share!" Kirk berated all the way back to the _Enterprise_. By the time the ship had shown up, there was no booze left and the authorities already on their way. Kirk hadn't gotten a single drop and that made him a very unhappy camper.

As retribution, the captain ran 'real' searches of engineering and forced Scotty to hide the intricate, permanent still affectionately nick-named Molly for an entire month.

When Scotty protested, the captain looked suitably snooty and said that Commander Scott should have expected 'real' searches at some point in his career.

* * *

><p>Dr. McCoy thought Captain Jim Kirk's pride in the ship's motto was a load of crock.<p>

Captain Kirk was always prepared. For stupidity.

But when it came to being sensibly prepared for things like disease and danger, the captain left it up to the adults on the ship.

Namely, one Leonard McCoy, whose standard off-planet med kit was growing to epic proportions. It was becoming the butt of away-team jokes, especially once the CMO settled quite happily on an unfortunately sized and shaped bag.

In short, the CMO's secret life as the _Enterprise_'s babysitter was revealed in his med-kit.

It very closely resembled a diaper bag. Right down to the pale blue colour, the wipes oozing out the top and the harried expression the CMO wore when carrying said bag.

All jokes stopped as soon as they uncovered a nasty human slavery ring and McCoy revealed that the diaper bag of medicine was bottomless, carrying everything up to and including a compact defibrillator.

When things finally settled down to the point where everyone could take a breather and Starfleet had sent in reinforcements. McCoy's bag was empty, probably stained, torn and definitely missing. He took a look around at the exhausted _Enterprise _personnel. Everyone including the captain looked more than a little blue, so the CMO decided he could take one for the team.

"Anyone seen my diaper bag?"

Kirk was the first one to snort with relieved laughter and McCoy sat back, satisfied.

* * *

><p>Spock found the ship's motto to be imminently logical. Dr. McCoy's definition was not entirely correct – it was rare but the <em>Enterprise<em> could be caught unprepared. The crew of the _Enterprise _was never reluctant though.

_Always at the ready_. It fit Captain Kirk and the crew to a tee. He had seen Starfleet employees who were just that, employees. But somehow Jim Kirk attracted people who took Starfleet's mission straight to heart. No matter the mission, no matter the circumstances, the _Enterprise_ was always ready to follow her captain into the craziest of situations, trusting in Jim Kirk to find a conclusion.

Yes, Spock quite liked the ship's motto and didn't mind explaining its excellent logic to a curious passerby.

He did, however, use the correct Latin to English translation instead of the captain's oddly popular colloquialisms.

* * *

><p><em>Impala<em>

"Sam?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"Why don't we have a ship motto?"

Sam looked up from his experiment. "What? A motto?"

Dean straddled a chair backwards. "Mottos are cool. _Enterprise_ has a motto. _Impala _doesn't. Why not?"

Sam shrugged. "I'm pretty sure the captain gets to choose the motto when he takes command of the ship."

"I'm the captain and I haven't seen anything about a motto!"

The younger Winchester returned to his microscope. "Well, I imagine the motto was part of that really big paperwork file you 'accidentally' deleted off the computer, saying there was no way in hell it could ever be important to even the most paper-hungry desk captain. What did you have in mind?"

Dean puffed his chest out importantly. "I thought about something like _salva __populum __venation e__quae._"

Sam frowned, mentally translating. "Saving people, hunting things?"

"Yeah, Ash agrees that it sounds cool!"

"We don't hunt things per se. And saving people is part of it sure, but it's pretty limited in scope if you know what I mean." Sam gestured vaguely, trying to illustrate his point.

Dean muttered under his breath and tapped a new phrase into his PADD. "What about _familia negotium_?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "The family business? You've been talking to Dad again haven't you?"

Dean bristled. "So? He has good ideas every now and then!"

"Dude. Go with broad gestures." Clearly Sam was trying to get his brother out of his hair until he finished splicing plant DNA.

There was silence for several minutes. "What about _fortitudo __in __adversis_?" Dean finally burst out.

Sam sounded it out thoughtfully. "Strength in adversity? I like it."

"Yeah. I still think my first choice was best." The unholy glint in Dean's eye had Sam raising an eyebrow.

"Do I want to know?"

"Babes, booze and phasers is a great motto!"

Sam shuddered. "Jo and Ellen would have you flayed alive. Better go with _fortitudo in adversis_. And make sure you file the paperwork properly, I'm busy enough as it is. Screw up by sending it to the cafeteria ladies again and I won't fix it." Dean sneered at his cheeky brother and stalked out of the lab.

"Strength in adversity," he muttered over and over as he headed to the captain's quarters, determined to fish out the motto form and fill it out as soon as possible.

If Jim was right, a motto was a catchall explanation for all sorts of zany situations and the _Impala_'s excuse book was running a bit thin lately.


	17. The Perils of Boredom

I do not own Star Trek 2009, Supernatural or Stargate SG-1.

* * *

><p>There were some days, Captain Dean Winchester reflected morosely at his desk, when it just didn't pay to get out of bed. Today, for example: paperwork all day because he'd procrastinated for the past two weeks and Sam had deliberately picked a boring quadrant of space so Dean would do his work. On top of the paperwork, his crew was bored and that had resulted in two fights, work-related injuries and blooming tempers.<p>

So when his cabin door chirped, he considered chirping right back and scaring whoever it was away from his paper-invaded sanctuary. Restraining himself at the last second, he called "Come," and glanced at three shuffling scientists from alpha shift. "Yeah?"

Lieutenant Shari fidgeted and Dean raised an irritable eyebrow. She took the prompt and immediately babbled out a long string of words that really didn't make any sense at all. He caught about one word in eight – "We, Stargate, Replicator, replicated, experiment." Blinking owlishly at his crew, Dean tried a mental translation, going with what seemed to fit best and the standard response.

"No, you cannot have a Replicator," he decreed wearily, rubbing at his forehead.

"Um."

"Um?" he demanded with a sudden icy trickle of foreboding running down his spine.

"Too late."

* * *

><p>Commander Sam Winchester was enjoying the peace and quiet down in the bowels of the sensory array when he heard the unmistakeable thumping footsteps of his brother in a fuming high temper. He briefly considered burrowing behind the unit he was working on and set down his micro-spanner with a sigh.<p>

"Yes Dean?" he asked over his shoulder before Dean could get a word out. "For the last freaking time, I'm not going to do your paperwork for you."

"Alpha shift. Stargate. Replicators."

Sam's stomach hit his boots. "I _told_ them to leave the Replicator blocks alone when we last visited the SGC."

Dean kicked at Sam's broken sensor computer and ignored his brother's scowl. "Your orders were followed. They designed their own. Just to, and I quote, 'see if we could.' They could all right."

Sam propped his arms on the gangplank and boosted himself out of the workspace, wiping grease on his coveralls and feeling a tension headache building already. "What do the Replicators do?" he asked, absolutely positively sure he did not want to know.

"Well, alpha shift went for harmless and cute instead of world-dominating and power-hungry. And apparently Shari is still scarred and mourning the death of her carefully sterilized tribble. So they built a Replicator-tribble. Designed to be cute and cuddly forever." Dean's face was pained. "They spliced tribble DNA into the Replicator technology and again I quote, 'completely forgot' about the reproduction cycle of both species."

Sam copied Dean and kicked his abused, broken computer. "Shit."

"Oh, it gets better. One of the jokers thought it'd be funny to give the ambassador a cute, self-maintaining pet."

Sam snickered. He couldn't help it. The fluffy, blonde person they had been ordered to deliver express across the galaxy had not been impressed by her ride, the captain or her accommodations. She had been very vocal about her dislike and therefore no one really liked her.

"What do the Repli-tribbles do, exactly?"

Dean shrugged expressively. "Alpha shift doesn't know. But apparently Shari wanted a pet she could get along with so they used aspects of her personality for the AI."

"Oh hell."

"That's what I said."

Then the lights flickered. Kept flickering. And Sam, who had been exposed to Shari's favourite punk-rock song for weeks until he instituted a headphones rule, recognized the beat immediately.

"Double hell."

* * *

><p>By the time the captain and first officer reached the bridge, they had tripped over several unbreakable balloon animals, ducked the sprinkler system and the speakers had started playing various genres of music with dubious lyrics. The bridge doors squeaked open to the tune of Three Blind Mice.<p>

"My chair!" Dean squawked, gaping in horrified disbelief. The dignified, battered black leather captain's chair was dyed hot pink and covered in glitter as a grim-faced Castiel scoured at it with a brush and what looked like paint thinner. Ash was busy trying to untangle the computer systems, swearing virulently at a member of alpha shift who still thought this quite funny.

Then Mickey Mouse walked into the bridge, dragging a sobbing blonde diplomat with him and things just got really _weird_.

After a minute of minor meltdown, Dean and Sam confirmed that Mickey Mouse was the physical form the Repli-tribbles had chosen. Physically assaulting Mickey with phasers, guns or knives resulted in nothing more than sparks and copious fat, copious Repli-tribble tears that grew into big Repli-tribbles obsessed with chewing on seat cushions. At the very least (and Dean was profusely thanking whatever god hated them the least at the moment), alpha shift had remembered to program an unbreakable code of non-lethality into the Repli-tribbles. No one was going to get hurt – physically. Mentally? He already had a call from the infirmary about a nurse breaking down after too many clowns popped out from around corners. Sam was already getting twitchy and he was staying very far away from corners or doors.

On top of that, Bobby was fuming – the Repli-tribbles had eaten all his spare parts and a good chunk of his tools. They had started in on bulkheads and were working up the courage to approach the warp containment fields. Down in the infirmary, they had hacked into the quarantine protocols and locked a fuming Ellen in after converting all the infirmary beds into one infirmary-wide play ball pit.

Dean was so going to condemn the entire alpha shift to daily psychiatric counselling for this stunt, he determined maliciously as Sam tried to talk Mickey Mouse out of painting Ambassador Billa pink like the chair.

Which reminded Dean that Shari liked pink and paint. Pink paint especially. A lot.

"Sir," Jo reported, snapping to brief attention in attempt to score some normality, "I regret to inform you that the…things are outside the ship. Painting it, to be precise. They've eaten all the plastic and steel they could harvest from non-essential systems and are invested in turning the hull, well…" her voice trailed off.

"Pink," Dean finished grimly. "At this rate, we're going to look like some fussy girl's toy. Sam! Let Mickey paint Ambassador Billa. The Repli-tribbles endangering the integrity of the _Impala_!" Sam looked almost indecently relieved as he extricated himself from the clingy ambassador's grip. Mickey took Dean at his word, gently but immovably focused on its goal of painting Ambassador Billa like a pink and purple clown.

"Sam, it's going to ruin our rep at this rate," Dean said seriously and Sam had to swallow a grin. "Shut up, I know what you're thinking. We _do_ have a reputation. What happens if Jim finds out about this? We'll never hear the end of it, to say nothing of the Romulans. Oh yes, a pink _Impala _is so very scary. We'll be laughed out of Starfleet. Alpha shift mucked it up, get them to fix it pronto. And these Repli-tribbles haven't hurt anyone yet or gone on a true tribble spree but I don't want to wait and find out alpha shift didn't get all the bugs out."

The last sentence was a sobering reminder and shut up the cackling alpha shifters who until this point had been treating the whole thing like a giant joke. Sam got to work and finally came to the conclusion that he could convince all the Repli-tribbles to join in a glorious Mickey Mouse outside the ship, clicking and chattering together until the figure was almost as big as the _Impala_ herself.

Dean pushed Sam and alpha shift faster and faster through their 'rescue.' Instead of unravelling alpha shift's work, Sam elected to just pitch the entire Mickey Mouse into the closest sun. "At least we don't have to deal with any Stargate originals and indestructible alloys," Sam muttered under his breath as the ambassador wailed in the back corner of the bridge. He gritted his teeth against the ear-punishing pitch. "Dean, if you don't shut her up I will," he growled as Shari flinched at his elbow where she had been ordered to stay.

Taking rare pity on Ambassador Billa, Dean plucked a hypo from his command chair and knocked her into a deep sleep. She could be Ellen's problem after this was all over.

Assuming of course, he still had command of the ship. Dean's head pounded at the thought of trying to explain all of this to the admiralty. This time he might really throw alpha shift under the bus. Really. "Captain?" Sam asked, gesturing at the final sequence of commands. "I'd hurry, Mickey's starting to notice," he added.

"Do it."

Sam slapped the button and the jury-rigged photon torpedoes ignited, Mickey tumbling towards the sun like a little dandelion seed. "You're _sure_ you didn't program any self-defence mechanisms into them?" he demanded and Shari shook her head miserably but definitively.

Sure enough, Mickey pin-wheeled quietly enough into the sun, exploding into disintegration.

The bridge crew heaved a huge sigh of relief. Jo plopped to the floor with a giggle as Ash rolled his eyes and prodded at his now chair-less chair post. "Cas," Sam warned as the annoyed pilot picked up a discarded glob of hot pink and sparkly black Silly String and glanced speculatively at a crest-fallen Shari.

"Shit, we're going to cleaning up all week," Ash realized.

And then a terrible thought struck Dean like a lightning bolt out of the blue. "The hull. What's the condition of the hull, Ash?" With a few flicks of the finger, Ash threw the sensor arrays up on the view screen.

Dean groaned like a man mortally struck to the heart and plopped his head into his hands.

The USS _Impala_, badass saver of planets and the galaxy at large, was decorated in patches of bright pink, giant black sparkly skulls sprayed at random across the saucer.

"I like it," Shari proclaimed cheerfully and promptly wilted under Dean's scorching glare.

"Commander Winchester," the captain proclaimed in deadly quiet tones that had alpha shift freezing in their tracks, "until further notice, all members of alpha shift shall adhere to every letter of the Starfleet regulations. Bar none. If they should step out of line, I will return every single individual to Earth for six weeks and I will relish finding appropriate, mind-melting duties for them to carry out. _Am I understood_?"

"Yes sir." Sam glowered at his minions. Usually cute when cowed, alpha shift was now acutely aware that they had crossed the final boundary.

"Outfit them in pressure suits and get them scrubbing the hull. After that, they will assist Commander Singer in engineering."

Sam jerked his head towards the lift doors when Dean finished giving orders and poked miserably at his insulted chair.

With uncharacteristic wisdom, alpha shift did not stand on the order of their going.


	18. To Sail a Ship

I do not own Star Trek 2009 or Supernatural

* * *

><p>"Dean, are you sure you know what you're doing?" Sam hissed at his brother, squinting at the ever-darkening storm clouds as the sun shone feebly in his eyes.<p>

"Sure I do Sammy," Dean chuckled through clenched teeth, ignoring the complaining sail as it snapped and cracked against the lines with every wayward breeze. "Bail faster."

Sam sighed and continued scooping tea-coloured water out of the bottom of the little sailboat they were currently trying to bring back to shore. Or rather, Dean was attempting to pilot back to shore as Sam bailed and kept a miserable eye on the cracked wood that let water in every time a wave sloshed by.

"I really think we should call Bobby and ask to get transported up."

Dean glared at his brother. "Dude. We are the captain and first officer of a damned_ star ship_. I think we can sail one dinky little boat across a small lake."

Sam pointedly glanced out at the rather large, wavy lake currently attempting to drown them. "You wanted to prove that the off-worlders had courage, fine. We did that when we took the boat out on a day that the weather was bad. But if we sink this tub we'll _really_ look like inept aliens."

Dean wiggled the rudder in a captain-ish manner and shrugged. "Speak for yourself, inept alien. I'm going to handle this just fine."

Sam scowled. Of course the natives had been the challenging sort. Of course Dean had been insulted by the insinuation that one was only a captain if one could sail the boat out and bring back fish. And of course they had been backed into a corner where it had been either sail the damned boat or get shot by the natives. Getting shot really wouldn't have been terribly dangerous given that Bobby and the transporter were on standby but it would have cost Pike his negotiations and the _Impala_ would have been in shit. Sam had agreed with Dean when the captain said they were going out in the boat. Sam had foolishly thought that Dean would take the boat out to the marker 800 metres off shore and then bring it back in.

Then Dean decided he was having fun and wanted to get away from shore.

Then they got lost.

Then Dean smacked the bow off a rock.

So that was how Sam got stuck out in the middle of a lake with an obstinate brother, a small sinking sailboat and a threatening thunderstorm.

He poked at the crack. It was getting wider every time a wave sloshed through. "Dean," Sam tried but the captain was busy blatantly ignoring him. "Fine," Sam huffed and 'accidentally' bumped the panic button on his comm. Accordingly, the whole boat began to twinkle with the harmonious hum of the transporter. As per regulation, Bobby simply grabbed the biggest, easiest-to-transport object and moved it up to the _Impala_'s cargo hold.

"Damn it Sam!" Dean roared as soon as he was able, tumbling down the tilted deck of the sailboat and fetching up against the lifelines with a thud. Sam poked his head up from the cabin where he had prudently braced himself. Nursing an abused elbow, Dean glared at his brother.

"I bumped my panic button. Sorry. You should tell Ash to make those things smaller, you know," Sam apologized, eyes radiating with sincerity. Dean scoffed at the younger Winchester and swung himself off the boat.

"Ash! Tell me the instant that water calms! In the meantime," Dean had an inspired thought and it showed in his widening smile, "Sammy and I are going to learn to pilot a boat."

A cold trickle of dread ran down Sam's spine.

* * *

><p>Three days later, Sam's hands were rubbed raw from handling the lines, Dean was spouting coordinates in his sleep and they could both put up the sail in less time than it took Dean to scarf back a hamburger. Dean was very proud.<p>

In feeble protest, Sam kept pointing out that theory was all well and good but paled in comparison to practical knowledge. He was also afraid that the natives would find out that they hadn't patched the crack with on-planet materials.

Dean blithely ignored his whinging brother and ordered the boat back into the lake.

It was a beautiful day, the lake calm in the storm's aftermath. The sun beamed cheerily overhead and now that Dean had some iota of what he was doing, the boat tacked with relative ease.

Sam still said he preferred a vessel that didn't have to travel in a zigzag to get where it was going.

But he could admit that once he wasn't worried about the boat sinking, sailing was somewhat fun. There was the soft music of waves pushing the boat forward, the constant breeze, the fresh air and the bright summer sun kept the chill off the water.

And now that Dean knew how to navigate by the stars (and Sam brought a locator unit), they were no longer lost. "Not so bad after all, eh Sam?" Dean crowed from the cockpit where he hung onto the tiller.

Sam popped the last half of a chocolate protein bar into his mouth and ignored Dean. Whenever older brothers were right, it was best to ignore them. Encouragement only resulted in overconfidence, Sam reminded himself as he cast the fishing line.

* * *

><p>Three fish and two hours later, they pulled into the landing and dropped anchor just out of the breaking waves. A small rowboat was put in so the natives could reach the sailboat.<p>

The weather-beaten elder of the village shook their hands firmly, thoroughly impressed by the soft star-sailors. His brawny son followed suit sulkily, no doubt hoping that the handsome Captain Winchester had drowned in recompense for winking at his girl.

Obviously the Winchesters were now welcome, as evidenced by the flood of curious villagers that surrounded them as soon as they set foot on land. Dean even got a second wink in for the pretty village girl. There was a feast and wine, dancing and laughter after Dean exercised his newly reinforced authority and brought a shift of his crew down to enjoy the merriment.

Things were going very swimmingly until the same sullen son inspected the sailboat.

Jabbering in his native tongue as frowns began to cloud the foreheads of the elders, the young man gestured vehemently as Sam elbowed his brother. "They found our patch job."

Dean turned away from the pretty village girl and assessed the situation. "Sore loser," was Dean's conclusion. "Alena says Fred Flintstone over there has been chasing her for weeks and she's told him no several times." When Sam's poking increased, Dean put down the flagon of wine and shoved his brother away, standing up and moving to somewhere a little quieter. "Fine, fine, put away the bitch-face. The solution's simple."

Sam was sceptical and said so.

"Easy," Dean grinned. "Cas is out there right now pulling the patch off and replacing it with something very native-y." He waved a hand around for illustration.

"Meaning Castiel is out there in the dark by himself in the water on a sailboat that's _leaking_?" Sam's voice rose slightly.

Dean frowned. "You make that sound like a bad thing."

"Dean, of course it's a bad thing! What if Cas drowns?"

"Seriously Sam. Cas is not that lame. He'll be fine." Dean's blithe reassurance clearly didn't make that much of a dent in Sam's worry and the first officer fretted away as Dean returned to flirting outrageously with Alena.

Sure enough, Castiel came through. Fred Flintstone stomped back to the fire, grudgingly admitting that while the patch job was childishly abysmal, it had been done with native materials. He was still confused – he had been convinced that earlier the crack had been filled with Starfleet steel-foam but Dean's widely innocent hazel eyes and indignant posturing got them through the celebration, the conclusion of negotiations and back up to the ship.

"I don't feel right about this," Sam complained once they were headed away from the planet, life pleasantly quiet on the bridge.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Right. I'll just turn the _Impala _around, go down to the planet, give back the treaty that will benefit both Starfleet and the village for decades and get my ass kicked by that hulking Neanderthal. I'll probably end up in the infirmary and busted back down to ensign for buggering up the negotiations. And when the Admiralty asks why, I'll just say it's because my baby brother has an overactive conscience." He sighed theatrically. "Cas, turn us around."

"Wait," Sam blurted impulsively and everyone swallowed their knowing smiles. "It's not that big of a deal," he finished sheepishly. "I'll get over it."

Dean grinned like a Cheshire cat. "Excellent. Now then Cas, second star to the right and straight on until morning."

Castiel wrinkled his forehead in a frown. "I beg your pardon?"

Minor confusion and major laughter littered the wake of the _Impala_ as she zipped off to her next mission.

* * *

><p><em>Epilogue<em>

"You've done this before, haven't you?" Jim sputtered accusingly.

Dean spread his hands guilelessly. "Are you sure you aren't just a sore loser? Who was it again that said real captains could sail anything?"

They were bobbing in the middle of the San Francisco bay, each in their own little racing sloop. Loser bought the beer and seeing as Jim's boat was currently tipped over on its side, the sail soaked completely, Dean was pretty confident he wouldn't have to worry about the weekend's booze.

"It's a natural talent I discovered on one of our away missions." Dean decided he was magnanimous enough to take pity on his friend and pulled his boat in close enough for Jim to hop ship.

"Oh, that mission where you had to call for an immediate bail-out and then almost got Cas drowned while he covered for your flirting ass? Sam told me all about it!" Jim grinned as he parked himself on the deck.

Dean bristled indignantly for a minute before threatening to dump Jim back in the drink where he clearly belonged.


End file.
